


Love the Game

by bruisespristine



Series: Taylor Swift Verse (College AU, no actual TSwift) [3]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: A lot of sex but MARKED so you can skip if you're not into that sort of thing, Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Canon Typical Violence, Established Relationship, F/F, Football | Soccer, Kidnapping, M/M, Sub!Shaw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-05-14 21:26:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 56
Words: 101,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5759431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruisespristine/pseuds/bruisespristine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This has somehow turned into an alternate origin story for Person of Interest that is simultaneously a college AU. </p><p>Highly recommend reading Hate the Player first for the get-together portion of Shoot, but you can read it without having read the One Shot Collection if you're only in it for the plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Steam Machine

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to [winged_mammal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/winged_mammal/pseuds/winged_mammal), [swu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/swu/pseuds/swu) and [Aliceinkinkland](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceInKinkland/pseuds/AliceInKinkland) for letting... no, encouraging me to yell at them about this nonsense. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @constantlyhalfcocked
> 
> and finally my lover just finished reading HtP and has requested (insisted) I put in a PSA about safety in kink. SO this fic is not a manual! Remember Martine, she killed someone because she didn't know what she was doing! Be safe, be educated, take classes if possible and learn from experts :D Communication is key, friends. 
> 
> I actually started a blog @kinkbossatyourservice dedicated to answering sex and bdsm questions, so feel free to throw those my way if you're curious :D 
> 
> **content warning** smut! public sex, exhibitionism, strap ons, shower sex, waterboarding, oral

Shaw untangles herself from the sweaty links of muscular arms and inches away from her team’s hugging but not before Zoe snakes out a long arm and yanks on her pony tail. Shaw rolls her eyes over her shoulder, but can’t hide the pleased look on her face.

Zoe wrinkles her nose and dives back into the hot mess of jumping, yelling players, celebrating their first victory of the season.

Shaw’s pretty sure that if she hadn’t been out for injury for six weeks last season, they would have decimated the opposition, and she knows most of the other players feel the same way. Team Machine actually ended up fifth in the league, which out of twenty five teams isn’t awful, but with their lineup solidified they’re all really hopeful for the upcoming games, and that’s a good feeling. A team’s not just one person, by any means, but Shaw has always had a close to preternatural ability to predict where her teammates are going to be, making her the strongest playmaker on the team, and giving her the most assists in Team Machine’s recorded history. With her out and a weak player replacing her, a lot of the team’s momentum was lost on the pitch.

Her phone beeps as she grabs it out of her bag, and she unlocks it with sweaty fingers that leave a smear on the screen. It does nothing to obscure the picture that flashes up, robbing the breath from her lungs like a punch.

Root smirks up at her in the image, unmistakably in the locker room, naked except for a black leather harness holding a purple dildo she has her fist curled around, and a strip of something black slung over one shoulder like a single suspender. Her body arches up towards the camera, emphasising the curve of her small breasts and the line of her ribcage.

Shaw gulps, clicking the lock button and grabbing her kit bag. She heads for the changing rooms in long, determined strides, not even bothering to take her cleats off. As soon as she bangs through the doors she knows where Root is.

Her black jacket is flung over the top of the door of the cubicle closest to the showers, the largest stall with the lowest walls. Shaw beelines forward, the adrenaline of a great game and the furious pounding of lust lighting her blood up, making her feel like her veins must be glowing hot beneath her skin.

The door swings open easily as she pushes it with one hand, and her mouth goes totally dry, leaving her to swallow solidly at the sight in front of her.

“Hi, sweetie. Good game.” Root is sitting on the small bench tucked at the back of the cubicle, one leg up and one on the ground, a casual expression on her face. She’s running her hand up and down the dildo jutting proudly from between her thighs. Shaw can see it’s already slick with lube which sparkles in the florescent lighting.

“Lock the door, Sameen.”

 

* * *

 

Shaw’s pussy clenches in anticipation as she turns and closes the door behind her, the click of metal sounds very final and abrupt in the currently quiet room. Shaw knows any minute her teammates will be following her, clattering in and filling the place with noise and steam from the shower.

It shouldn’t turn her on, to think of people just outside the thin piece of wood while Root fucks her senseless, but it does, and Shaw is a pretty pragmatic person. She’s not gonna feel embarrassed if they’re caught, really. Well, maybe for a second, but it’s not like her team don’t know who she is, so why not? This promises to be super hot, as does everything with Root. That girl can turn almost anything into a kinky game that melts Shaw from the groin out. She’s never met anyone who has her number like this.

Before she moves away from the door, Root is behind her, quick and quiet enough to make Shaw jump, just because she’s humming with so much anticipation. Root doesn’t let her turn, pushes her against the door and Shaw goes easily, obediently.

The wood is cool against her warm cheek, and Root lifts her hands, looping the black thing that had been over her shoulder around her wrists in quick, competent turns. A wide, soft ribbon, Shaw realises as it tightens, like the kind you would tie a kimono up with, maybe.

Her hands are lifted forcibly by the soft fabric, and the changing room main door bangs open, letting in the chatter of voices discussing the game.

Frankie and Harper loudly relive an excellent corner while Shaw’s wrists are being secured to the heavy metal hook meant for hanging your kit bag on the back of the door. The sound of their voices sends a frisson of nerves and pleasure spiralling through her gut.

She presses her forehead against the door, reminding herself she has to be quiet. The dildo pushes into her ass as the taller girl finishes tying her to the door with flat loops that will only cut in if she pulls juuuuust right, which she definitely plans to, and then Root’s breath is hot on her sensitive earlobe. “Are you going to be good, Sameen. Should I give you a present?”

Root punctuates her words by sliding her lube-damp hand up Shaw’s shirt, over her slightly sticky stomach and up to her sports bra. Shaw nods enthusiastically to the question, and Root snickers, whispering, “I love it when you’re all sweaty.”

Sharp fingers pinch Shaw’s nipple through her bra and Shaw swallows a groan, leaning her head back to rest against Root’s shoulder and arching her breasts into Root’s firm hand.

Desire is burning through her like a wildfire, making every cell in her body hum with need, she pushes her ass back against the dick and Root licks her earlobe, wrapping her other hand around Shaw’s waist and sliding just her fingertips under the band of her shorts.

Shaw wriggles in anticipation. Even though she’s not usually inclined to be overly vocal in sex, not being allowed to talk is making her feel disproportionately like she wants to, but she bites her lip and tips her head to allow Root access to her neck.

Zoe’s voice pierces the changing room just as the showers click on, the beat of water providing a slight curtain of sound, disguising Shaw’s shuddering breath. “JC, did you see where grumpy pants went? Shaw, are you in here?” Her voice raises for the second question, “we’re supposed to meet our taxi in forty five minutes!”

“Answer her,” Root murmurs, pushing her hand down into Shaw’s shorts, and licking Shaw’s neck as she discovers the mess she’s turned Shaw into in a matter of minutes.

Shaw’s throat is thick, and she has to clear it before she can summon up the ability to reply, “I’m changing,” she tries to sound irritated, but it’s sort of ruined by the slight squeak startled out of her at the end when Root pinches her clit lightly, but the girls don’t seem to notice.

“That was quick. Are you feeling okay?” Zoe answers merrily, the sounds of clothes and shoes hitting the tiles punctuating her response.

“‘M fine.”

“Okaaaay.” The sound of receding footsteps and voices is absorbed by more showers turning on, and Root pulls down Shaw’s soccer shorts and underpants in one smooth move. “Leave them around your ankles,” she instructs, and Shaw wriggles her legs as far apart as they will go with the required constraints, propping her elbows on the door in anticipation of being penetrated.

Root chuckles, the vibrations buzzing through Shaw’s back, and she wonders how it is that she feels so naked, so exposed, when Root isn’t wearing a stitch except for her dick, and Shaw still has most of her clothes on.

The thought is interrupted by Root pushing her hand between Shaw’s legs from behind, making a satisfied grunt as she slides two fingers into Shaw with little warning. Shaw leans eagerly into the stretch, resting her head on her bound wrists and lifting her butt for Root’s access.

Root fucks her lazily with her fingers, adding a third and sucking on her neck for a few minutes, then Shaw is left whimpering quietly at the loss as they’re pulled out. Root doesn’t tease her though, and Shaw bites her own bicep violently to muffle her yelp as the thick head of the slicked dildo pushes up against her entrance. Her teeth sink into her arm harder as Root thrusts home, lifting her up onto her tiptoes, cleats scrabbling for grip on the tiled floor making little clattering noises she’s glad no one is in the room to hear.

Shaw’s whole world is full of Root, her heated body pressed against Shaw’s back, her hand sliding down into the thatch of hair at the apex of Shaw’s thighs, and most of all, her enormous dick fucking the world into a hazy, distant place.

The showers click off, Shaw vaguely notices, dampening the little noises threatening to burst out of her with her own flesh in her mouth. She’s going to have a killer bite mark, but she can’t bring herself to give a shit as Root drags out of her then slides home again, slow, but incredibly strong.

Shaw pulls on the restraints around her wrists, helping to lift herself up a little, the fabric digging in hard enough to cut off her blood temporarily. Root breathes hot and frantic onto the back of her neck, squeezes her clit rhythmically and fucks Shaw’s brains out in exact, perfect motions that send fire lancing through her, leaving her clamping down and sweating, trembling and shuddering in Root’s arms as she comes.

Root eases out but stays pressed up against Shaw’s back, the dick wedged between her legs and pushing against her clit, making her squirm pleasantly. Root gentles her with soft hands over her stomach and thighs until her breathing returns to normal, and she manages to take her own weight, wincing as blood works its way back past the silk ribbon that she’s pulled tight around her own wrists.

The warmth of Root disappears from behind her, although Shaw doesn’t have the energy to move, and then the taller woman reaches over her shoulder. Shaw looks up in time to see her flick open a switchblade with competent fingers, slicing through the ribbon between Shaw’s wrists in a way that makes Shaw’s belly flip over and wish that it was going to be that sort of party. Scraps of black float to the floor and Shaw pulls her wrists free of the remnants, rotating them and wincing at the tingles.

She groans quietly despite herself, and Root helps her turn around, winking at her in the terrible way that she has. “Good?” She murmurs, pulling Shaw’s shirt off over her head.

“We’ll meet you at the house, Shaw!” Joss calls and the main door slams. Shaw thinks there might not be anyone left in the changing rooms now, but she’s not sure, the foggy remnants of her orgasm clouding her brain.

“Good.” She replies fervently, hooking her fingers into the strap around Root’s waist. “Can I?” Shaw drops to her knees slowly, kicking her shorts and underwear off, leaving her in cleats, shin pads, muddy socks and a sports bra. From the dazed expression on Root’s face it’s a good look.

Root doesn't still her hands, so Shaw carefully undoes the strap on, drops it on the floor, and places her hands on Root’s hips, asking her to move backwards.

Once Root is sitting on the bench, Shaw pushes her knees apart and leans forward, still a little shaky from her orgasm, but eager to repay the favour. Root lifts one leg over her shoulder and pulls her closer.

Shaw goes easily, fluttering her eyes closed as she presses her mouth up against Root’s pussy, inhaling deeply to get a lungful of the special scent that is only Root, musky and tangy and wired directly to her own nervous system.

Root shivers and winds a hand into her hair, gripping tightly enough to be painful in the way that lets Shaw turn her brain off, filling the moment with Root in her mouth and hard tiles under her soccer-bruised knees, and nothing else. It’s perfect. She loves it, sliding her nose down Root’s folds, gathering the taste of her, swirling up and over her clit and making her hips dance, feeling Root respond to her.

She raises a hand and squeezes Root’s thigh in question, but Root covers it with her other hand, and when Shaw hums in agreement she lets it go, and Shaw knows only to use her mouth, to go soft and slow like this, with her tongue dragging over every delicate, secret space, pushing into Root and then kissing up to cover her clit and suck it into her mouth. Root’s not always up for penetration, and even when she is she’s not a fan of the intense, hardcore kind that Shaw likes, so Shaw always asks to make sure she knows what Root wants.

When Root comes, it’s quiet and intense, she coils forward, sliding her hands down Shaw’s sweat-slick back and gasping a little choking noise before the tension falls out of her and she relaxes, leaning back with a faint grin on her face as Shaw sits back on her heels.

She pets Shaw’s hair and face in a way that would make Shaw uncomfortable if it was anyone other than Root. This petting isn’t for Shaw, it’s for Root, and Shaw is happy to sit and let her touch her face all soppily if that’s what Root needs just now. Root regularly fucks her brains into soup, so letting her have some petting time seems the least that she can do in repayment. Her wrists twinge, and when she looks down she sees they’re circled with hard purple lines from pulling against the ribbon too hard, like she’s been wearing several tight elastics around her wrists.

Root follows her eyes and snorts softly, then pokes at the bite mark now livid on Shaw’s thick upper arm muscle. “I hope you brought long sleeves.”

“I can keep my hoodie on. Or maybe tell them it’s a new tattoo.” Shaw grins, feeling fucking fantastically pleased with herself, the soft look on Root’s face, the deep twinge of a good fuck reminding her what it felt like with Root balls deep in her. So to speak.

Root snickers and slides off the bench unsteadily, gripping Shaw’s shoulder to balance. As soon as she has it under control, Shaw stands too, and Root draws her into a deep kiss, chasing her own flavour off Shaw’s tongue and moaning with pleasure.

“Don’t suppose we have time to go again?” She murmurs when she pulls back, grabbing a meaty fistful of Shaw’s ass hard enough she’ll probably have little red nail lines for a while.

Shaw smirks and detangles, checking the time. “No time for round two during quickies. I gotta be back at the house in twenty four minutes, and it’s a twelve minute fast walk. You gonna rush with me or should I see you later?” She pulls her sports bra off over her head.

The soccer social for the start of the season will have silly awards, and announcements, as well as copious amounts of alcohol. Shaw had invited Root on a whim, thinking it would be more fun if she was there, and the look of pleasure in Root’s eyes probably has something to do with the epic changing room fuck just now, she realises, leaning down to take her cleats and shinpads off.

“Mm, rushing’s fine.” Root picks up the strap on and chucks it haphazardly in her backpack, “everything I own is covered in your come,” she remarks idly as she opens the door, walking naked into the empty locker room and heading for the shower.

Shaw can see faint pink lines left by the harness curving around Root’s thighs, she has such delicate skin.

“Complaining?” Shaw follows her, admiring the view and then ducking under a shower head and gasping in pleasure as hot water bursts out and soaks her.

“Nah, just observing.” Root grins, carefully keeping her hair clear of the water and scrubbing a cleansing hand between her legs with a screwed up face that Shaw knows means if she wanted to, she could get another orgasm out of Root in minutes.

Okay, that’s worth being late for.

She glances around the room, just to triple check they’re alone and then sidles up to Root, dropping to her knees and pushing her nose against her hand. “You’re gonna have to be quick,” she points out as Root groans appreciatively and moves her fingers to tangle in Shaw’s hair.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck me already.” Root leans back against the cold tiles, spreading her legs, and Shaw grins up at her, braces one hand on the wall and slides two fingers into Root’s soaking pussy without further ado, pressing her mouth tight against her clit.

Water streams down her face, she closes her eyes against it and breathes through her mouth in little, wet and sipping gasps that taste like Root. Liquid tries to bubble up her nose, she exhales against it, in through her mouth while her tongue and lips work messily and she curls her fingers inside Root, making her gasp and slip.

Root moans and her legs buckle, but Shaw wedges her strong shoulder between them to help hold her up, and works frantically on Root’s clit, struggling to breathe and loving it, until black spots are smearing her vision and finally, finally, just when Shaw thinks she’s going to black out, Root tenses, jerks her head back against the wall and shudders her orgasm out on Shaw’s barely moving hand.

* * *

 

Shaw leans back, presses her forehead against Root’s thigh and breathes in huge, shaking gasps that burn her throat, the water washing the slick off her face and fingers.

“Mmmm, is it nap time?” Root has the dazed, slap-happy look she gets sometimes, and Shaw wonders what she must look like, disoriented and weak, groggy. Root tugs on her hair gently and Shaw hauls herself to her feet, a little unsteady but feeling clearer by the second, enjoying the soft expression on Root’s face.

It’s not super often that Shaw initiates kisses, especially if they’re not actually knuckle deep in each other at the time, and as she leans in Root accepts the gesture happily, their lips slide together wetly, their breathing steadies as they kiss. After a long moment Root finds her feet and pushes Shaw away gently with a soft grin. “Shower.”

Shaw can’t hide the pleased smirk on her face as she swiftly rinses the mud and come off her body, washes her hair and flicks the shower off. When she checks her phone, she groans and dries herself off haphazardly, Root waiting for the towel. “We’re gonna be late.”

“Text Zoe and tell her to make the taxi wait, we’ll only be five minutes or something. Tell her it was worth it.” Root has a grin in her voice as she towels off, yanking clothes on swiftly. They move rapidly to make up for lost time as they head for Casa Machine, while Root helps Shaw to not walk into anyone as she texts.

SHAW @ MORGAN // running late, wait for us //

MORGAN @ SHAW // i KNEW you guys were fucking in the changing room. so not subtle. also, selfish. some of us haven’t got laid for weeks because we’ve been having a sexuality crisis //

SHAW @ MORGAN // :D //

MORGAN @ SHAW // that must have been some fucking incredible sex. that is the first emoticon you have ever used, so I assume your brains have fallen out //

MORGAN @ ROOT // congrats you broke shaw with sex. she is now using emoticons //

ROOT @ MORGAN // no that was me, I stole her phone cuz she was gonna send you another naked picture of me, and I feel like you already have a solid collection. Plus, the lighting was bad. The sex was phenomenal, thanks for asking. Sorry you’re not getting laid. We will wingman you! //


	2. Fuckademy Awards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning** sex jokes, mild (verbal) homophobia

Team Machine is already in the seven seater when they arrive back at the Casa, and Shaw runs into the house, coming back minus her bag and in a different outfit in very quick time. Root grins at her damp, dishevelled hair as Shaw tidies it with her fingers, dragging it into a ponytail as soon as she’s done her seatbelt up and the taxi pulls out of the driveway. 

“Glad you decided to join us,” Joss snerks giving them the side eye, and Root blinks at her innocently, “sorry we’re late. We had things to do.” 

Zoe raises an eyebrow and looks pointedly at Shaw’s wrists where her jacket sleeves have fallen back a little and the marks have yet to fade, “nice bracelets, Root get those for you to celebrate our first win of the season?” 

Shaw smirks smugly, “I am things,” and pulls her sleeves down a little. She hooks her phone out of her pocket, fiddling with it while Zoe snickers. 

“So are you worried about getting the captaincy this season, JC?” John asks from his position uncomfortably wedged between Joss and Zoe, big shoulders meaning he has to put his arms up over the back of the seat, like he’s hugging them both. 

Joss twirls her hair a little on her finger before replying, looking thoughtful. “Well, it’s only between me and Collier, and I reckon I have a good shot at it. Depends how the subs fall, I guess, and what the new kids think when they only just met us.” 

“They shouldn’t get a vote,” Shaw grunts, her knee knocking into Root’s as they go over a speed bump. “They don’t know anything about our team dynamics. If Collier gets it I’m dropping out.”

“No you’re not,” Joss pokes her with her foot, a skeptical expression painting her face. “If Collier gets it you’ll say ‘congratulations’,” she pauses, “well, actually, no, you won’t, because I’m not sure you’ve ever said ‘congratulations’ to anyone. You’ll probably just scowl at him, but you’re not quitting the team just because your friend didn’t get the band.” 

“More like cause he’s a douche.”

Root can’t help chuckling at Shaw’s grumpy comment, “why do you dislike him so much, anyway?” 

John, Zoe and Joss all shake their heads practically in unison, but it’s too late, and Shaw gesticulates wildly with her phone as she angrily replies, “he has no respect for anyone except strikers! He thinks if you don’t score the goal then it was nothing to do with you, even though most goals start with playmakers! He always yells at Greenfield for letting shots past him, when obviously if we had all done our jobs they never even would have got a kick at him, he’s also just generally an asshole, and he spread a bunch of gossip about Zoe a few years ago.” She subsides, mouth twisted in anger. “Jackass.” 

The taxi driver coasts to a halt and Shaw pops the door, gesturing Joss out ahead of her. Root mutters, “sorry I asked,” internally thinking how cute it is that Shaw’s partly mad on Zoe’s behalf as she fishes in her pocket for her wallet, but Shaw beats her to it and hands a twenty through the driver’s window, waving away the change. She’s so butch sometimes it makes Root smirk.

Harold limps around the car from the front seat and John opens the door to the venue for them all. 

The social’s being held in one of those pubs that has a stage at one end, promising live music later, and the place is already pretty busy, even though it’s only four in the afternoon. Students are everywhere, in gaggles around the pool tables, playing darts, as well as filling a lot of the booths. Happy Friday indeed.

Shaw leads the way to a long table that’s obviously been constructed out of several four-seaters, and determinedly takes the end chair, leaving the others to sit down next to her. She doesn’t greet anyone, but Joss stops to say hey at the opposite end of the table. 

Collier and Donnelly are up there, chatting away, Harper and Frankie next to them with two guys and a girl Root thinks are the subs.

Laskey’s opposite the unknowns, a seat with a jacket flung over it on his right, and then Joss comes down and slides into the next chair to that and the others fill in the spaces. 

Root’s knee ends up pressed against Shaw’s under the table, but she’s not complaining, and John stays standing, leaning his hands on the back of the chair. “I’ll get the first round? Pitchers?” 

He gets a chorus of assent, and Zoe follows him to the bar, presumably to help him carry. Root looks around. “So.. we just sit in our group and what, have dinner, get drunk?” 

 

“Essentially,” Harold nods. “They do a sort of speech, reveal the new captain, give some awards and stuff.”

“The new captain... who’s the old captain?” Root inquires, looking around.

“I was interim captain, our old captain, Dillinger, changed schools in the middle of the season. Since we already had our line up sorted I volunteered to do the organisation, but now every team member, even the subs and the newbies have voted. Only me and Collier put our names in, so fingers crossed.” Joss fiddles with a coaster, flipping it up off the table and catching it smoothly.

“Otherwise our only practices will be striker drills and the rest of us can go and rot,” Shaw mutters to Zoe as she returns to the table, triumphantly carrying two pitchers which she only spills a little as she slides them onto the table.

“Ah, Shaw, we’ll make our own practises, don’t worry. Here, I brought this for your wrists, also might help with your temper,” Zoe has an icepack clenched between her elbow and her side, and she offers it to Shaw with a shit-eating grin. 

Shaw growls, waving it off. A beat passes and then she smirks, takes it and puts it under the table, scooting back so everyone can see she’s stuffed it between her legs. Zoe raises an eyebrow, “seriously?” but Shaw just waggles her eyebrows and Root can’t help but laugh as she reaches for a pitcher. 

“You should know better than to try to fuck with her, she has no shame,” she points out, filling every glass she can reach. John comes with another two pitchers that remain mostly full, for now, and slides in next to Harold. 

“Who has no shame? None of you have any shame!” he states, waving at Laskey who’s been joined by Greenfield, filling out the table. 

Collier stands up before any of them can reply, and Shaw drops the cold pack on the table, clearly done with the joke, Root can’t imagine that felt good between her legs at all. 

“Alright, good game today, people,” Shaw leans over to whisper to Root while Collier keeps talking.

“Note how he is already acting as though he’s won the vote, even though Joss is interim captain. Asswipe.” She takes a few, thirsty gulps of her beer, emptying the glass down to the halfway point, and Root blinks, taking a swig of her own and wondering if it would be a good idea to order some water for the table, as they have all been playing sweaty sports for an hour and a half and are probably thirsty. She flags a server down and quietly asks for water for the whole table while Collier is talking.

“So first up, we have the final vote for captaincy. I know Greenfield’s been holding on to the envelope, so do you wanna do the honours, bro?” 

Greenfield looks a little awkward, and then opens an envelope he had in front of him, reading each slip of paper in turn, holding it up and then placing it either to his left or right, “uh, okay. We have... Collier, Collier, Carter, Collier, Carter, Carter, Collier, Carter, Carter, Carter, Collier, Carter, Collier, Carter, Collier... So that’s a really close vote, but seven for Collier and eight for Carter. Our new captain is Carter!” He lifts his glass up in Joss’s direction, and Collier’s mouth drops open for a second. He reaches out like he’s gonna check the count, then closes his hand into a fist and drops it to his side.

“Well.. congrats, Carter. I guess I’m alternate. All yours.” He sits down, grabs his drink and takes a large swallow as Joss gets to her feet.

“Thanks, everyone. And let me echo Collier, great game today. I’m really excited for this season, and I think we have a good shot at the cup! I’ll send an email around later...” she picks up her beer, eyes it and salutes them before taking a gulp, “I mean tomorrow, detailing practises and schedules, but for now let’s do last seasons’ awards and get wasty pants. So you all handed in an award for a team member, along with a prize. If you could pass them to John now,” she motions at him and John awkwardly wriggles out of his seat, heading round to collect envelopes and small packages from around the table, “we’ll get started.” 

Shaw takes the momentary pause while John’s getting the stuff to refill her glass, and lift it to Joss, “three cheers for Captain Carter!” 

Everyone whoops and drinks, Root grinning as Joss ducks her head a little embarrassed by the attention, but staying cool and smirking at everyone in thanks. “Yeah, yeah. See how you feel when I have you running suicides at six am,” she blusters, taking the first envelope from John. “Okay, first up! We have Laskey, get to your feet, Laskey! And Laskey’s award is for ‘Best Puppy Eyes After A Foul Call’! Zoe, you wanna be my lovely assistant and hand out the prizes?” She gestures at Zoe and John hands her a small, wrapped present.

Zoe grabs it and fake-lobs it at Laskey’s head, who flinches violently and then blushes as Zoe gets up and hands it over to him. 

He opens it under everyone’s intent gazes to reveal a plush toy puppy and waggles it at the table, blushing even more. “Thanks, I think.” 

Joss snickers and leads everyone in a cheers to Laskey before opening the next envelope, “Okay, Reese, on your feet my friend! For John, the award of ‘Most Shocked By Vaginas’, which I assume is courtesy of Shaw, stay classy, friend. If you guys haven't heard the desk story yet you might wanna get these two drunk and make them tell you.” 

John laughs as he unwraps his prize to reveal a marshmallow vagina on a stick, wrapped in shiny paper. He looks at it with one eyebrow quirked and then hands it over to Root. “I believe this is your specialty?” 

Root takes it, laughing, and leans back in her chair, “thanks! Looks yummy.” 

“Up next we have Greenfield, for, uh, ‘Total Failure to Realise Someone’s A Lesbian',” Joss waves at Zoe to hand him his prize, and Greenfield opens it up, pink-cheeked, to reveal a tube of lube and a pack of Kleenex, which he drops on the table with embarrassment before hiding his face in a drink. 

John leans in and whispers conspiratorially to Root, “he kept asking me for your number, it was getting pretty creepy,” and Root snickers, rolling her eyes and then looking at Shaw, who is now staring at Greenfield with narrowed eyes.

“Sameen, relax,” Root murmurs, lacing her fingers around Shaw’s wrist for a moment and Shaw lets out a hmph before emptying the last of the fourth pitcher into her glass. 

Joss opens the next envelope, “Hersh, my man, receives the award for ‘Best Excessively Violent Slide Tackles Shrugged Off as Total Accidents’, which I agree with one hundred percent,” Joss states with a raised eyebrow, and Hersh lets out a bark of laughter as he opens his prize. It’s a Bobble-Head referee holding out a red card, and Hersh sets it on the table, tapping its head so it waggles. 

“And then we have the lovely Zoe Morgan. Morgan here gets the well-deserved title of ‘Seducing the Most Members of the Opposition at Half-Time', and her prize is...” Joss waves a hand as Zoe eagerly unwraps her little package to reveal a huge strip of condoms, a toothbrush and a fridge magnet that Root can’t read, Joss shakes her head, “you guys are obsessed with sex, wow. That is an impressive number of condoms.” 

Zoe waggles her eyebrows and shows the table the magnet, it says ‘you go girl’, on it, and then Zoe stuffs everything in her shoulder bag. “Challenge accepted!” 

“Okay, moving swiftly onward. Rose, we have the excellent title of 'Holy Shit, Where Did the Fucking Ball Go, Are You A Magician?', which is pretty apt, what did you get.... oooh, magic tricks! Nice one, whoever came up with that.” 

Harper does look pretty pleased with her small box of kids’ magic tricks, which she opens and pours onto the table even while Joss starts on the next envelope. “Wells! We have ‘Best Trash Talk,’” Frankie hastily unwraps her package and reveals a game of Cards Against Humanity which she waves in the air and shouts ‘thanks’ for. 

“Oooh, I’m next, and I get the questionable title of ‘Most Likely To Cut A Bitch', umm... thanks? Oooh, a candy knife! Where did you even find this?” Joss exclaims excitedly over her prize, which Root can see is indeed, a hard candy dagger with a plastic handle for holding. 

“Shaw, you’re up. Oh, I like this one. “MVP... don’t get too cocky! ‘Most Vicious Player,’” Shaw looks pretty pleased with herself as she unwraps her parcel, revealing a small first aid supplies box and smirking. She twitches her eyebrow at Root before sliding it into her bag. 

“And last, but not least, our new alternate captain, Collier. And he receives... oh this is ridiculous, ‘Name Most Like a British Cheese', whoever you are, I hope you are deeply shamed.” 

Collier snorts, clearly unimpressed as he opens his parcel to reveal, yes, a block of Collier’s Cheddar. He shrugs. “Well, at least I can eat mine. Unlike John,” he points out, sliding his chair back and getting to his feet. “Alright, prizes done, captaincy done, let’s get hammered! Tequila shots on me.” 

Shaw smirks, fiddling with her empty glass, “not literally, I hope.” 

And Collier half-turns, pointing at her with finger pistols, “you’re a dyke now, aren’t you? I wasn’t offering.” 

Shaw growls, getting to her feet. “Watch your fucking mouth, jackass,” Root debates whether to make a grab for her hand, wondering if the tension is going to disintegrate into a bar fight, but Collier’s already holding his hands up in mock-surrender as John looms in front of him. 

“Sorry, sorry, no offence intended.” 

Shaw has her hands clenched into fists on the table, leaning over, and Root carefully covers one, rubbing her thumb across the knuckles, “let it go, he’s clearly trying to get a rise out of you,” she points out, tugging gently. It seems like Collier and Shaw have bad blood going way back, and even though what he said was definitely unacceptable, Root doesn’t think a brawl in the middle of a pub is the best solution. She might load his laptop up with some quality furry porn or something though. 

Shaw resists for a moment and then slumps back into her chair, crossing her arms. “He’s still pissed about that time I broke his nose,” she huffs, but gives Root a look that says she’s not going to get up and punch him any time soon, and Root relaxes. 

“So, more beer?!” Joss declares brightly, yanking John’s arm since he’s already upright. 

Harold leans forward, his fingers wrapped around his empty glass, “his resorting to crude insults just makes him look like an ignorant fool,” he states, his tone clearly disapproving of Collier. 

Trying to break the tension, Root unwraps the vagina-on-a-stick and offers it to Shaw with a grin, “here, have some candy, you love candy,” Shaw takes it with a huff, sticking it in her mouth and looking like nothing more than a grumpy toddler. 

“How’s your project going, Root? I took a look at those files you sent me, and I agree, there’s something not quite right there,” Harold is clearly trying to change the subject.

"It's... bizarre. Every time I find something that would start to explain that corrupt data array it's like it disappears. I feel like I'm going crazy," Root replies, twisting her mouth to one side.

Harold opens his mouth to reply but just then Joss and John come back with full pitchers, and then Collier sends a tray of shots their way, and everyone starts looking at food menus.

They all end up ordering burgers, and after eating Shaw is in a much better mood. 

Root spends most of the afternoon chatting to Harold about the weird stuff she keeps coming across with the company she’s working for, while the soccer team talks about the world cup, and some scout or other that’s rumoured to be checking out the collegiate games this season. 

The evening passes in a blur of booze and merriment, ending up with some actual line-dancing. Root can’t remember how she was persuaded to get involved with that, but her Texan roots definitely do her proud and she wipes the floor with her friends, though Zoe puts up a solid effort. 

Fortunately, Collier steers clear of their group, and Joss acts as a go-between of sorts, clearly trying to make sure everyone is having a good time, and dragging the subs onto the dance floor as well as getting involved in a complicated looking dance with Frankie and Harper. 

Root and Shaw have several rounds of shots, a brief and interrupted grindy makeout session, and a lot of fun dancing and messing around with the rest of the Team. It's a good evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't actually think Collier is a homophobe, and in this universe headcanon he's not, he's just angry at Shaw and not that classy.


	3. When You Say 'Thing' You Mean 'Dick', Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning** drinking (I forgot to warn for that yesterday, sorry!) discussions of one night stands, sex positive humans, mentions of barfights, mentions of fucking on tables, Shaw not being smooth at all.

Some time later, Joss seems to be having a good time grinding against some guy off her course, Shaw thinks his name is Melvin, or Calvin, or something, and Shaw herself is pleasantly inebriated. She’s playing a rather brilliant game of pinball while Root cheers her on/ pervily watches her arm muscles flexing as she works the handles when Zoe wanders up.

“I’m horny and I am drunk, find me a man friend! Or a lady friend. Maybe I’ll finally give the ladies a whirl.” 

Shaw is concentrating pretty hard on stopping her last little ball from dropping down the hole but Root answers, “Zoe, how are you currently feeling about putting your tongue in, on, and around a vagina?” 

Shaw catches Zoe’s distressed face out of the corner of her eye and laughs so hard the ball slips past her, ending her game. She’s still snickering as she turns around, scooping her half finished beer up off the small table. Zoe wrinkles her nose and shrugs, “I don’t know! How could you ever know!”

Root grins at her. “Relax. Your gay crisis is adorable. You may just have a solid case of the College Try, but we can probably find you a man friend if you’re more comfortable. Plus there’s only like two lady lovin’ ladies in here besides us.” 

“How can you tell?” Zoe asks interestedly, scanning the room, “who?”

“My gaydar is infallible,” Root snickers, pointing at two women who are currently making out with each other pressed against a wall. 

Shaw leans her hip against the wall next to Root, scanning the bar. “Don’t worry Zoe, we can definitely find you a dude,” Root worms her arm around Shaw’s waist and pulls her close, splaying her palm on her stomach and using her free hand to press gently against the flesh just above Shaw’s hip, right where Shaw has a helluva a bruise. Shaw inhales and pushes into her hand and Root pinches with cruel, knowing fingers.

Shaw shudders at the painful touch, arousal pulsing through her and she leans her head back on Root’s collarbone for a minute to catch her breath.

“See, that’s what I want,” Zoe eyes them thoughtfully, “where do you find someone who turns you on in a second flat? Can I borrow her. Can I borrow you both?” 

Root snickers, and Shaw blinks lazily, “sorry, Zoe. This kinky fucker is occupado. In terms of borrowing us both, we’ve talked about that, ball’s in your court. Let us know if you get serious. Meanwhile, hey, do you know Devon?” She jerks her chin across the room, towards a tall guy with dark hair and beard scruff talking to a blonde girl at the bar.

“Hmph.” Zoe grunts, turning to look, “no, I do not. He’s cute.” 

“He’s a good guy, I met him in a bar fight, tough fucker, stopped someone from hitting me with a chair, so I owe him one. Also, once I saw him climb a tree to save a kitten, so I feel like he’d screw your brains out but not be an asshole about it. Want me to hook you guys up?”

“Eh, why not, I could be that thing you owe him!” Zoe nods and grins, running her fingers through her hair. 

“Alright, back in a minute. Look hot,” Shaw grins, leaning up to bite Root’s lip for a moment before slipping away through the crowd. 

Behind her Shaw hears Zoe chuckle. “Always do,” as she makes her way across the room.

“Hey, Grice. What’s up!” Shaw leans her elbow on the bar next to him, lifting a hand at the bartender and ordering five shots of tequila when she heads over.

“Hey, Shaw, not much. Can’t complain. You?” He looks pleased to see her, the blonde girl with him slightly less so. 

“Well, I’m out with my friends,” Shaw motions at Zoe and Root who are laughing about something and looking like total babes, “and my hot house-mate may want to bang you. Come meet her?” 

He looks taken aback, totally flustered, and then the blonde leans over and points at Root and Zoe, “hey, and that’s Root, right? God, she’s hot, is she single? C’mon Devon!” She starts walking without waiting for Shaw to figure out the answer to that question and Grice blinks at what Shaw thinks could be a murderous expression on her face. Guess Root’s gaydar missed one. 

Shaw grabs three tequila shots, motioning to Grice to pick the other ones up, and strides after the blonde, catching up just as she reaches the table and handing Zoe and Root a shot as Grice arrives and hands one to his blonde friend. 

The girl makes deliberate eye contact with Root as she chucks it back. 

Shaw immensely regrets ordering five shots instead of four as she tosses hers. “Hey, Zoe, this is Devon. Devon this is my aforementioned hot house-mate, Zoe.” 

He leans in to shake her hand, and Zoe grins, “hi.” 

But the blonde girl is already talking, leaning over to Root in an unmistakably predatory way, “hi, I’m Brooks. Nice to meet you...” she holds her hand out, and Shaw glowers at her. 

“And this is Root, my...” every word feels wrong. If she says ‘friend’, then this stupid blonde is gonna think she can sit on Root’s dick, which would be fine, obviously, if she wasn’t clearly an asshole, and also if Shaw wasn’t here because Root _definitely_ already has plans... ‘lover’ is too big, makes Shaw want to be sick, ‘girlfriend’ feels like she’s in a fucking nineties romcom. Her mouth opens without permission from her brain, “...person thing.” Person thing. _Person thing_. 

Everyone is looking at her, Root with this hard-to-read expression, Zoe with a look that keeps oscillating between total glee and ‘aw, honey’, Devon just seems a bit confused and Brooks has her lip curled up in disdain. 

Shaw glowers, she thinks she might be blushing, her face feels hot, “I’m gonna..” she whirls around and strides through the crowd, ducking into the corridor that leads to the bathroom and leaning against the wall, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. What is happening to her? 

“Shaw,” Root sounds a little tentative, and Shaw bangs her head against the wall with a dull thump, not opening her eyes.

“Sorry,” she’s not one hundred percent clear on what she’s apologising for, but it seems like a good enough way to try and force the doughy pressure out of the air around her that keeps trying to cave in her chest, making it hard to breathe. 

There's a little breath, a sigh, and then Root's voice, calm and sure, “Shaw, it’s okay. I don’t care how you introduce me to people. You can tell them I’m your person thing, your friend, your Dom, your naked partner in crime... hell you can tell them I’m your private pastry chef if you want. I don’t give a shit what they think, it only matters what you and I think.” Root is close enough that Shaw can feel her warmth near her side. 

“I... don’t know what I think,” Shaw groans, cracking her eyes to peek at Root. She’s leaning one shoulder on the wall, her thumb hooked into her belt loop, looking down at Shaw with affection shining clear in her eyes.

“If I ever meet the person who convinced you the way you feel is wrong, Sameen, I’m gonna skin them,” Root says conversationally, “I know you find it hard to put emotion stuff into words, even in your own head, but can you do something for me?” 

Shaw looks up at her, wary, “what?”

“When you feel like you’re not being ‘normal’ can you tell yourself that I like _you_. Exactly as you are. I’m not waiting for you to turn into some wanky romantic who writes me love songs and calls me their 'life partner'. I have zero interest in any of that. I’m interested in you, okay?” 

Shaw is shocked by the sudden rush of something that might be gratitude that runs through her. 

Root never pushes, respects her borders somehow, always dances around the edges of Shaw’s discomfort and helps her find a place to settle. Her chest loosens. “Okay.” 

“Now, do you wanna get out of here? Zoe’s already got Devon tongue-tied, Joss is still with that guy and the boys are playing an extremely vicious game of pool. So how about we bail and I’ll tie _you_ to the kitchen table and make sure you can’t think about _anything_ except what I’m doing to you?” Root grins down at her, licking her lips.

Shaw snorts, a little more of her awkwardness melting away, replaced by a rush of heat, “yeah, okay. I’ll text the team.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have never heard of Garfunkel and Oates go and check them out, especially [The College Try](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7n39RzgVNP8) mentioned in here, but everything they do is amazing. And NSFW. They do such gems as 'Sex with Ducks' (response to that gay marriage quote about gay marriage leading to sex with ducks) and 'The Loophole' (about having anal sex in order to preserve your virginity) and my personal fave, 'Sports Go Sports' which I like to sing to literally everyone who tries to talk to me about sports. I only like playing sports, not talking about them.


	4. Chem Students Do It on the Table, Periodically

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put a horizontal rule in so if you don't want to read the smut, that's your stop. 
> 
> **content warning** table sex, bondage, DIY for bondage purposes, blindfolds, crotchless panties (I know this is tacky as fuck...but honestly I am suddenly and shockingly a convert and yeah. You should be too) kinda forced orgasm, tap out or black out, voice kink.

They decide to walk home, the night is clear and cool, and Shaw’s obviously feeling a little pent up. Root walks a couple of steps behind her, Shaw keeps trying to drop back and walk together but then speeds up without noticing, agitated. Root just ambles along, not trying to keep up.

“You wanna talk about it?” Root inquires, after Shaw almost takes the campus path gate off its hinges in a fit of irritation when it refuses to open as quickly as she would clearly like.

“No,” Shaw kicks the metal bar once more for good measure as she lets the gate swing shut behind them and they traipse down the dark, wooded path.

Fair enough, “I never walk this way when I’m on my own,” Root fiddles with her keychain in her pocket, wondering if distracting Shaw is the right play here.

“Why not? It’s the quickest,” Shaw kicks a branch off the path and grimaces when she gets gunk on her shoe, standing on one leg for a second to check it out.

“It’s also terrifying,” Root points out affably, watching Shaw hop with some amusement, “we’re not all ninjas you know.”

“True. You have your taser though... and that psychotic grin you do goes a long way as well, I’d say,” Shaw flashes her a half-smile and Root relaxes, starts walking down the path again.

“I’d still rather the extra fifteen minutes and the streetlights,” they jink through the bike gate and out on to the main road, crossing immediately and Root sighs as she looks up the humongous hill they have to scale and then descend to get to her house, “urgh, I hate this stupid hill.”

“Keeps your ass in great shape though,” Shaw muses, slapping the item in question, and Root rolls her eyes.

“That’s actually the fucking, I’m pretty sure. Honestly, I have new muscles since we started sleeping together,” Root turns and does a mock superhero pose, making Shaw snicker.

“You didn’t have any at all before, soooo,” she deftly dodges the joking blow Root aims at her stomach and puts her hands up, dancing from foot to foot like she’s shadow boxing, “you sure you wanna go there, Groves?” She teases. The distracting technique is clearly paying off.

Root just looks at her, licks her lips slowly and smirks, “no, but I can think of plenty of places I _do_ wanna go. Back to my place being number one on the list. I’d fuck you in the alley over there but it’s too cold with you in pants. Plus I didn’t wear the shoes for it.”

Shaw rolls her eyes, picking the pace up a little as they crest the hill, not breathing heavily at all, “it’s hilarious that you pick footwear based on where you’re going to fuck me.”

“Practical,” Root corrects, amused, “it’s practical. And you better not be complaining, I am fucking stellar at coming up with new and kinky situations to fuck you in.”

“I am definitely not complaining,” Shaw knocks her hip into Root’s, looking up at her through lowered lashes and smiling, “the opposite.”

“Good,” Root sounds smug, she knows, but she doesn’t care, and she fumbles for her keys in her bag as they approach her building, “'Cause honestly I wouldn’t drill holes in my kitchen table for just anyone,” she watches Shaw out of the corner of her eye as she buzzes them in, and is gratified by the subtle widening of her eyes, and the small gulp that greet her words.

“Drill.. holes? What kind of holes?” Shaw sidles through the door and starts up the stairs.

“You’ll have to wait and see,” Root is very pleased with herself, and she hustles Shaw up to her floor, grabbing her hips as soon as they are through her door and pulling her back, flush against her, “well, I use the term ‘see’ liberally,” she gropes for the light switch, clicks it on and then picks up the blindfold she left nice and accessible on the counter, moving to stand between Shaw and the wooden table in the middle of the kitchen, “close your eyes.”

Shaw makes a little sound but obediently closes her eyes and Root smirks, wanders around the kitchen, takes her shoes and coat off, all the while leaving Shaw standing and waiting, unable to see.

She sneaks up behind her and slides her cold hands under Shaw’s jacket and shirt, grinning at the shiver she generates and pressing her mouth against Shaw’s neck, “good girl.”

Shaw groans in the back of her throat as Root explores a little, slides her jacket off her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor, pulls Shaw’s shirt over her head and then slips the blindfold into place over her eyes.

It’s quiet and still in the kitchen, the refrigerator humming under its breath but the lights are too bright so Root leaves Shaw standing alone to go and deal. She clicks the fairy lights on around the window, and the living room lamp, then turns everything else off so Shaw glows soft in the low lighting.

* * *

She’s standing tensely, blindfolded and shirtless. Root can see the faint ripples of gooseflesh dotting her ribs and biceps, from arousal not chill; the air inside is pleasantly warm. The line of her ribcage arcs smoothly down to the soft curve of her stomach, the edge of her underwear just visible over the waistband of her jeans. Root walks silently back over and slides her hand around Shaw’s back, eliciting a sharp intake of breath as she competently unclips her bra.

The black fabric glides down Shaw’s arms with a slippery noise that lights a fire in Root, the whisper of material against skin. Shaw jumps as Root cups her jaw, leans down for a kiss, but it only takes her a split second to react when Root's mouth presses against hers, respond with an arching body and an open, eager mouth. Her lips are hot and searching, sucking on Root’s tongue when she deepens the kiss, a breathy little whimper escaping Shaw at the sensation.

Root guides her backwards with her body, to the table, leans her against it while they kiss. Root’s hands work at Shaw’s button fly, popping each in turn, achingly slowly, “you know how many times you’re gonna come tonight, Sameen?” She whispers it into her mouth, sucks on Shaw’s lip before she can reply and then drags her tongue down the warm ridge of Shaw’s throat to suck on her collarbone.

“n..no,” Shaw groans, fingers clenching on Root’s hips, as Root works her pants down to mid thigh, pulling away briefly to shove them the rest of the way down, leaving Shaw clad in a skimpy black thong, very different from the boxers she pulled on after their shower.

“Tap out or black out, that’s how many,” Root hums, running her hands around Shaw’s hips, exploring the panties, “you changed your underwear?” Root leans down to get a better look, urges Shaw’s legs apart and actually makes a little noise when Shaw obediently spreads, revealing that the panties are crotchless, a hemmed slit in the fabric leaving the entire length of her hood exposed.

The sight of the soft pinkness against the deep black material makes Root’s mouth water and she can’t resist leaning forward to press a light kiss against it, feeling the brush of cotton against her lips contrasting vividly with the exquisite delicacy of Shaw’s sensitive flesh.

Shaw shivers under her mouth, rocks her hips forwards a little and Root grins, running her hands up Shaw’s thighs, “alright, sweetie, on the table,” she urges her up and Shaw struggles onto the edge of the wooden table, clearly not being able to see is messing with her spatial security. Root manhandles her back until she’s satisfied, leaving Shaw splayed out with her hands together above her head and then she rounds the table to tie her there.

The holes Root drilled are about five inches apart at the top of the table, and she left a belt looped through them earlier, so it really is a matter of seconds to thread Shaw’s hands through the leather and secure it under the table, leaving Shaw’s wrists pinned to the wood.

Shaw groans quietly, her lips parted and vulnerable-looking. Root kind of wants to climb on the table and sit on her face, but the table isn’t really very wide and it would probably be a terrible decision.

Shaw’s knees are at the end of the table, her feet dangling into space, and Root wanders around to stroke her hand down Shaw’s calf, admiring the sight of her lover stretched out in only a blindfold and black panties with black leather wrapped around her wrists.

The grain of the table is sanded smooth, unfinished and almost soft under Root’s fingertips as she idly trails across it, pushing Shaw’s legs further apart and inhaling sharply at the sight of the revealing underwear, now visibly damp and sticky around Shaw’s entrance.

Without further ado, Root leans down and props her hands on Shaw’s thighs as she sucks Shaw’s clit straight into her mouth, pressing her tongue against it rhythmically. Shaw cries out and arches, yanking on the belt around her wrists involuntarily.

Root can just see her fingers snatching at nothing when she looks up the long expanse of stomach and ribcage, firm breasts and the sharp angles of Shaw’s face from below, as familiar to Root as the taste in her mouth and the feel of Shaw’s warm skin against her palms.

She’s not taking any prisoners, intent on her promise to wipe everything out of Shaw’s mind except for what is happening to her here and now. She roughly pushes two fingers in, Shaw’s pussy clenching on them immediately, and Root starts a driving, forceful pace, curling her fingers deliberately against Shaw’s gspot and pulling her first orgasm out of her in a matter of minutes.

Shaw tries to curl up, squirming away, but Root pins her hips with her forearm and slows just enough to coax Shaw into relaxing into her mouth, long, slow strokes that drag her orgasm out and push her into another right on the heels of the first.

This time, the noise is more of a choking whimper and Root pulls back a little, still working her fingers deep inside Shaw’s pussy. She kisses a wet path to the inside of Shaw’s thigh, scrapes her with her teeth, feeling Shaw’s muscles jump and clench as Shaw realises what’s about to happen. Then Root digs her teeth in as hard as she can and twists her fingers determinedly.

Shaw holds out longer this time, Root sucks on her mouthful of flesh, working her gspot methodically but not touching her clit at all until every muscle in Shaw’s body is knotted and tense at the conflicting sensations, then Root lets go of her thigh with a wet pop, swipes at Shaw’s clit with her tongue and grins in triumph as Shaw’s third orgasm powers through her.

Shaw’s making little gasping noises and Root relents temporarily, needing to shake her fingers out anyway. She pulls out and stands up straight, trailing wet fingers down Shaw’s hipbones and delighting in the muscles trembling at her touch.

“Mmm, baby, you’re doing so good,” she licks her lips at the sight of Shaw, hooks her fingers through the sides of the panties and pulls them down slowly. Shaw whimpers throatily as the soaked fabric peels away from her sensitive flesh, and Root holds the panties up with a satisfied grin before chucking them in the general direction of the washing machine. “I like these. And now we can actually get started,” she swallows her chuckle as Shaw tenses and moans at her words, shifting on the table.

They don’t beat their personal best, but Shaw blacks out rather than taps out, so Root thinks it was an evening well spent anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because apparently you folks are extremely logistics-concerned; if you were worried about Root getting in trouble for property damage, she bought that table herself. 
> 
> :D


	5. Up All Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning** Shaw being way too cute. University is hard sometimes.

20:21 SHAW @ ROOT // are you still coming to do work here? //

20:35 ROOT @ SHAW // yeah, I’m just finishing up in the labs //

21:45 SHAW @ ROOT // ... //

21:59 ROOT @ SHAW // sorry, time flies when NOTHING MAKES ANY FUCKING SENSE //

22:31 SHAW @ ROOT // I gotta go to bed, I have class at 8. Come sleep here and I’ll see you in the morning //

22:34 ROOT @ SHAW // okay //

04:56 SHAW @ ROOT // I woke up to pee and you were not here. It is five am. You better be at home //

04:59 ROOT @ SHAW // I'm still in the lab. Sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow or something //

Root doesn’t even look up when the lab door swings open, her gritty eyes focused on the screen, blurred in her vision by almost fifteen hours of staring at it. She does, however, jump in surprise when a hand flutters onto her shoulder.

“All nighters are one thing, Root, but you’re in a fucking lab. When was the last time you ate anything?” Shaw grumbles, kneading at the tight muscles in Root’s neck. 

The strong hand feels amazing and Root leans forward, exposing her back, and Shaw makes a huffing noise and then starts working at her shoulder muscles with both hands. Root just about melts, aching and sore from sitting without moving for far, far too long. Shaw’s fingers dig in viciously, making her flinch, “I’m not kidding, this is ridiculous. You need to eat, and drink something, and at least take a nap.”

“Every time I stop working stuff disappears,” Root’s voice is thick and grating, she swallows heavily and Shaw’s hands disappear, prompting a grunt of protest before Shaw hands her a bottle of orange juice. She opens it and downs half of it without realising how cold it is, the liquid so refreshing and delicious she makes a greedy noise before she gets brain freeze and has to pinch the bridge of her nose until it fades.

“I don’t know what that means, but it’s not worth you passing out over. C’mon. Save your shit.” Shaw tugs her hair lightly.

Root starts to protest, and then takes stock of her body. She abruptly realises she’s starving, desperate for the toilet, her back is killing her, her legs are stiff and sore and her fingers are freezing. She sighs, and saves what she was working on in as many places as she can, including onto a usb drive. 

Shaw grunts in approval and scoops Root’s things into her backpack haphazardly. When Root clambers out of her chair on unsteady legs she can’t help grinning at Shaw, whose hair is all sticking up and wild. She’s pyjama clad with a thick jacket on and her feet shoved in boots that look way too big. She sees Root’s eye line, “I took John’s boots by mistake. I was half-asleep. Here.” 

Something is shoved towards Root’s chest and she takes it, looking down to see a sandwich wrapped in cellophane, clearly from the all-night store, her stomach clenches, setting off a chain reaction of bodily responses, “thanks, but I gotta pee first.” 

She hands the sandwich back to Shaw and bolts for the toilet without further ado, relieving herself with the exquisite pain that comes from not peeing far past where it would be advisable. Shaw is waiting for her outside the lab’s main doors, and Root stuffs the sandwich in her mouth wordlessly as they start down the path, shocked by how weak and exhausted she feels.

The Casa is quiet, everyone still asleep, and they creep up the stairs together, falling into bed with Root stripping down to her panties but not able to summon the energy for jammies. Shaw scratches her head gently and turns out the light.

Root wakes up when Shaw’s alarm goes off, but is immediately aware of the fact her head is foggy and pounding, and she groans in protest until Shaw clicks it off. 

She listens, half-asleep, as Shaw pads around the room, presumably getting dressed and packing, but can’t for the life of her force herself to get out of bed. 

Eventually, Shaw crouches down and pokes her gently, “you staying here or should I make you get up?” 

“Ugh, staying. Sleeping,” Root grumbles, squirming away from Shaw’s hand, “when does your class finish?”

“Ten thirty. Need an alarm before I go?” Shaw relents on the poking and Root feels her sit back on her heels.

“Dunno, what day is it?” Root’s brain is made entirely of candy floss, it seems.

“Tuesday,” there’s a smile in Shaw’s voice.

“Class at two. Wake me up when you come back?” Root rolls over, snuggling back into the warm embrace of the bed and sleep.

“There’s water on the side,” Shaw murmurs before Root hears the door close and slumber drags her back down.

***

The sound of the bedroom door opening again wakes Root up, and she rolls over, groggy and bleary-eyed and shirtless.

“I... did not know you were here,” not Shaw’s voice, Root’s brain helpfully points out and she rubs her face, trying to clear out the sleep.

“Morning, Zoe,” She mumbles, pulling the sheet up a little so she’s covered.

“Sorry, I was looking for my sweater, I think I left it in here... yeah.” Zoe scoops the item in question up off the floor and grins at Root, “you look tuckered out. Shaw keep you up all night?” She hovers in the doorway, “want coffee? I’m just making some.”

“Yes, coffee, many coffee. No, up all night for work stuff. Is Harry here?” Root blinks sleepily.

“Yeah, he’s in the lounge. Come down?” Zoe slides out the door, then turns and smirks, “those are nice in person as well as on a teeny phone screen, by the way,” before disappearing down the stairs.

It takes Root a solid minute to realise she’s talking about her breasts, and then she laughs quietly, struggling out of bed and stumbling to the dresser.

Two cups of strong coffee help clear the cobwebs out and then Root grabs her laptop and trundles into the living room, “hey, Harry. I was hoping I could pick your brains again?” He’s reading on a tablet, but doesn’t look like he’s concentrating really hard.

He blinks and looks up, then gives her a crooked smile and gestures to the couch, “of course.” 

Root boots her computer and pulls up some files from her usb drive, turning the computer to face Harold so she can point things out. 

The files open, load the code up in seconds, and then... abruptly, close down and disappear. 

“What?” Root exclaims, leaning forward and typing rapidly as she searches for the files to open them again.

“That is... not normal.” Harold points out, putting his tablet aside and furrowing his brows, “can I?”

Root growls in frustration as she fails to locate anything, and hands the computer over. Harold takes over speed typing as Root pinches the bridge of her nose, trying to figure out what could be happening.

“...They’re gone. I can find the locations they were in, see the deleted file data, but the information has been purged.” Harold sounds alarmed, and Root clenches her teeth determinedly.

“I have to talk to Control. This isn’t just some small company that wants their systems tested, there’s something bigger going on, probably illegal.” She shuts down her laptop with brisk, precise moments. 

“I agree,” Harold nods, steepling his fingers under his chin, “but what, is the question? And why would they be letting a university student have access to their data if so?” 

“I have no idea, but this is my fucking thesis, so you better believe I’m going to figure it out.” Root is angry now, angry at the work she’s put in that has disappeared, angry at the idea of something complicated she’ll have to sort out when she has better things to do, and angry that she has no idea what is happening. 

“Well, let me know what happens? In the meantime, I’ll take a look into the company, what’s the name again, Rylatech?”

“Yeah, Rylatech. Thanks, Finch, I owe you one.” Root packs her stuff away and picks up her backpack, “I’ll email you”

She texts Shaw on the way out the door.

10:13 ROOT @ SHAW // hey, Zoe woke me up and I’m heading to Electronics to talk to Control. There’s something really fucked up going on with Rylatech. I’ll see you later. Good luck with soccer tomorrow and your test! //

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Infinite Box for realising that last chapter is the first time Shaw's been blindfolded since that time Martine filmed her so yay, personal growth and trust!


	6. Sleeping in the Wet Patch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning** you may need fillings after this. Hurt/comfortish I guess.

SHAW @ ROOT // soooo I just got an email from the scouts that came to our game last week. They want me to come to a soccer camp for the second week of spring break //

ROOT @ SHAW // That’s amazing! I’m so happy for you! //

SHAW @ ROOT // are you coming to our game today? //

ROOT @ SHAW // Are you actually playing? It’s pouring! //

SHAW @ ROOT // yeah, we always play unless it’s flooded. Can you come? //

ROOT @ SHAW // Oh fuck, Shaw. I’m sorry, I really can’t today. I have like six meetings lined up with Rylatech people //

SHAW @ ROOT // that sucks. No worries, later then, I’m going out with the team after so lemme know if you change your mind //

ROOT @ SHAW // Sorry. I’ll let you know when I’ve sorted this shit out //

****

*two days later*

MORGAN @ ROOT // help //

ROOT @ MORGAN // what? //

MORGAN @ ROOT // you have to come here before I kill your naked partner in crime (which is what she’s calling you now? glad I could help you find terminology that works for you!) //

ROOT @ MORGAN // what did she do? //

MORGAN @ ROOT // she threw up on me. twice. I love her, but puke is gross. everyone is sick since the excessively wet game you didn’t come to. except me. and I can’t, I just can’t. I haven’t slept or showered in two days. I am no longer responsible enough to be the only adult adulting in this situation. send help //

ROOT @ MORGAN // shit, I’ve been so busy I didn’t even ask how the game went. I’m on my way. I’ll bring supplies. Please don’t kill anyone, or let them drown in their own vomit //

MORGAN @ ROOT // no guarantees //

***

Zoe yanks the door open violently only seconds after Root knocks. She looks wild-eyed, sweaty and dishevelled, and falls to her knees in supplication. “Oh, thank the Goddess.”

“Holy shit, you look like you’ve been through boot camp.” Root picks her way past Zoe, kicks off her shoes and drops the extremely heavy bags she’s carrying on the floor. “Go shower, then to bed with you. Have the plague-ridden been fed recently? When were they last medicated?” 

“No, I don’t know. We ran out of medicine before dawn. What time is it?” Zoe drags herself up the stairs on hands and knees, either unable or unwilling to get to her feet. 

“I’ll make soup. It’s gonna be fine.” Root shuts the door, drags everything to the kitchen and gets to work. It takes her twenty minutes to sort out enough surface area to make soup, and she’s glad she went the lazy route and bought prepped vegetables. 

She whacks a bunch of stuff in a pot with some stock, and a load of chicken and sets it to boil.

Once she’s satisfied with the kitchen situation she decides to do the rounds. She starts with Harold and John, knocking on their door until she hears a moan and heading in with a tray of orange juice and some medicine. “Urgh, it smells like a corpse farm in here.” Well, sensitivity was never her strongest point. 

Harold moans pitifully and she sets her tray down on the floor before padding over to the window and opening it, leaving the curtains mostly pulled and letting a blast of cool air into the room. “I’m sorry, it’s for your own good.” 

They both look rough as shit, and Root makes them change their jammies while she strips their bed and puts new sheets on. Resisting the urge to poke fun at their naked bodies she then forces them to take their medicine and leaves them to their bed of pain. 

She meticulously washes her hands before checking on the food. The soup is bubbling nicely and smells good, so she gives it a stir and goes to see how Joss is doing. 

Joss is in slightly better shape, having enough energy to sit up a bit to drink her juice and take her medicine, and thank Root profusely. 

Shaw, however, is balled up under what looks like all the duvets in the world, and is still managing to shiver enough to vibrate the fabric mountain. 

Root screws her face up at the sight, padding in and setting a glass of juice down by the bed. “Hey, sweetie. How’re you doing?” 

Shaw coughs so hard she makes little whimpering noises, and for a moment Root thinks Shaw might actually burst into tears, but then she swallows thickly and replies, “‘m sick.” It’s a breathy grumble, rattling with phlegm, and usually that would totally repulse Root, but somehow Shaw makes it cute. 

Root opens the window to let some fresh air in and then rubs her hand over Shaw’s blanket-wrapped side, barely able to tell where the bedding ends and she begins. “I see that. Looks like you have a pretty bad fever. Can you sit up to take some medicine?” 

“No,” Shaw moans, but rolls over, and Root helps her to squirm upright. She still manages to drip bright blue medicine on her sweat-soaked shirt, and Root decides that probably just taking it off is for the best, so she helps her out of it. 

Shaw shivers and complains, trying to crawl back down into a bed that feels like it’s been rotting in a rainforest for a week. “Nuh uh, sweetie. Out you come.” Root tugs on her arm gently but insistently.

“Whyyyy,” Shaw moans, obeying, Root thinks probably because she’s used to doing what Root tells her to when she’s not able to think in straight lines. 

“Shower. It’s gonna be okay.” Root manhandles her out of the bed, helping her stagger across the floor, reminded immensely of times when she’s done a similar guiding thing because Shaw can’t walk for much funner reasons. 

Root manoeuvres a shirtless Shaw into the bathroom and takes her shorts off, all while Shaw moans and complains, shivering madly. She puts the shower on lukewarm, knowing it will feel like it’s freezing, but being unwilling to subject Shaw to the unpleasantness of an actual cold shower, regardless of how good that is at resetting faulty body temperature. 

She dithers over whether to get in or not, but Shaw has collapsed on the toilet and will probably not make it out alive, so Root strips off quickly and drags her in. 

As predicted, the smaller woman cries out and struggles, but not in any serious way, mostly just pathetic. Root sponges the sweat off her body as quickly as she can and then clicks the shower off. 

Shaw, again, looks like she’s on the verge of tears, a sort of shocked, ‘how could you’ look on her face that is equal parts adorable and heartbreaking enough that Root apologises as she wraps her in the fluffiest towel she can find and half-carries, half-walks her back to the bedroom, regardless of her own nudity. 

Making Shaw stay at the desk for the five minutes it takes Root to strip the soaked sheets off the bed and put new ones on is a challenge. 

Shaw actually crawls onto the bare mattress while Root is in the corridor grabbing clean linens, and then protests vehemently to being bodily dragged off, but eventually Root has her settled down in a clean bed, and is gratified to see that Shaw is no longer shiver-shaking. 

Time for soup. After pulling on some jammies, she delivers a bowl to every member of the team, including Zoe, who is lying on her mattress, face down, with all her clothes still on, on top of the blankets, thus causing Root to believe that she is probably at least half as sick as the others. She leaves the bowl by her bed, tiptoeing out, and sets an alarm on her phone to remind her to medicate everyone after their dose wears off. 

After setting a load of laundry with as many of the sweat-covered sheets in it as she can manage, she makes herself a cup of coffee, taking a timeout in the living room until she feels like she has a handle on things and heads upstairs. Acting as a nursemaid for five people is a little overwhelming, especially when combined with how much work she has to do, but she knows she isn’t going to leave.

Shaw has managed to make a dent in her little bowl of soup, she's pleased to note. Root slides into bed with Shaw and closes her eyes, listening to her lover’s breathing and running over lists of what she brought with her, what everyone will need to survive the night, and what parts of her project she absolutely has to organise for her end-of-the-month meetings with Control and Rylatech, though so far their meetings have consistent mostly of Root trying to explain what she'd seen in their data before it had vanished. It's a frustrating situation, even the screenshots that she'd taken of the weird parts disappear, and the printers in the lab mysteriously refuse to spit out what she wants. It makes Root feel like she's being watched, and she doesn't like it. And Rylatech don't seem to give a shit, so she has to assume they already know what's happening. But for now she has to keep wrangling bits of code regardless of the creepy stuff she doesn't have answers for, her actual project has to be handed in eventually, even though a lot of her time has been taken up trying to track down the movements of deleted data. Nobody seems to care about the impromptu detective work she's been doing anyway, they just want her actual deliverables. She thinks for a while before grabbing her tablet to put in a little work.

***

The sheets are all tangled up around their feet, under the duvet, but when Root tries to escape and sort them out, Shaw makes such sad whining noises that she can’t bring herself to leave her, even for a minute.

Sometime later, Shaw rolls over and lands on Root’s chest. “Root,” Shaw mumbles, looking up at her. Shaw’s eyes are glassy and her face is glazed with sweat, pink and hot-looking. 

“Yeah, sweetie?” Root inquires softly, stroking her fingers through Shaw’s over-heated hair and lifting it off the back of her hot, damp neck.

“Why do you like me?” Shaw blinks up at her, fever spots in her cheeks, looking like a little kid all bundled up.

“I didn’t think you were the insecure type, Sameen,” Root smiles a little, shuffling down in the bed as Shaw shivers, arranging the blankets over her balled-up form.

“‘M not. I _know_ you like me. But I don’t know _why_. I’m... I’m not like everyone else. And you like me anyway. You never try to change me.”

“Everyone else sucks, Shaw.” Root smirks, checking the time to see if Shaw’s due for her next dose of meds; she’s probably going to regret this conversation immensely, if she remembers it. Forty five minutes out. “But I like you for lots of reasons.”

“What reasons?” Shaw manages to be both whiny and insistent. 

“I like... the way you never, ever back down from anything, but you’ll drop to your knees without questioning it if I tell you to,” Root murmurs, stroking her arm.

“Not sex stuff, Root. I know I’m good at sex,” Shaw complains, attempting to wriggle closer, a bed-bound, blanket-wrapped fish.

“Oh, not sex stuff, hey,” Root has a teasing note in her voice, “guess I’ll have to think about it.” 

She lets Shaw crawl right into her chest, even though the smaller woman is putting out heat like a furnace. “I like the way you have absolutely no regard for your own safety, even though it’s stressful sometimes. You always go all in. I like ...how you yell at the television when characters make terrible decisions in movies...”

“S’like they’ve never even _seen_ a movie,” Shaw grumbles, hiding her nose in Root’s throat. 

“I like... how practical you are, how fast you react if something bad happens. How you always put everyone else first, even though you pretend you don’t even like them. You let Zoe cuddle you sometimes even though it makes you uncomfortable, just because she likes it. You fight everything, like you’re at war with the whole world except for me, I’m on your team. Being on your team is the best. Uh, I like your happy face when everything’s okay, especially if I’ve helped make it that way.” Once Root gets started, apparently she has a lot to say, but Shaw is finally relaxing against her chest and it’s a good feeling. Hopefully none of this stuff will remain in her fever-ridden brain tomorrow anyway. “How you’re secretly an enormous nerd who quotes nerd things and then pretends to have made them up yourself. You like people thinking you’re tough but you’ll argue about your favourite Harry Potter character for hours. The attention you give Bear, he makes you light up, you love him so much. You work so hard to be a good person. You’re loyal, and kind, and brave. You’re sweet to me without even realising... you make me feel... safe. Present. Connected to stuff,” Root takes a deep breath, hearing the unsteady note in her own voice and reaching for easier things. “How you can fit an entire steak in your mouth like you’re worried someone’s going to take it away from you. Your hands...”

“Not sex stuff,” Shaw mumbles again, butting Root’s neck with her face in protest.

“Well, yeah, I like your hands for sex stuff, but I like them all the time. You hold them like weapons. You’re so strong. You always know exactly where your body is, what it’s doing. You have so much control, I know you’d never hurt me. Even when you’re furious, I know you’d never hurt me. You let me share your power, it’s...amazing.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Shaw complains, curling over further and rolling away from Root, wriggling back until she’s pressed her butt up against Root’s stomach and she grunts in satisfaction when Root rolls and wraps her arms around her.

“I know, baby.” For some reason the endearments are just trickling out today, but pathetic-bundle-of-Shaw doesn’t seem to mind. 

“I like your face.” Shaw’s words are mumbled into the sheets, she sounds like she’s falling asleep, and Root blows on the back of her neck.

“Alright, weirdo.”

“Your face is nice. It’s always moving, always doing stuff. Cute stuff. And I like the way you think you’re being sneaky when you sniff your fingers after they’ve been inside me.”

“No sex stuff, Shaw,” Root snickers, worming a hand under Shaw’s sweaty shirt and onto her over-heated stomach.

“Shut up, Root.” Shaw passes out before she’s even finished enunciating the ‘t’. She still has half an hour before she’s due for her next round of disgusting cold medicine, even though her fever is back up, Root doesn’t want to risk it. Root reckons maybe the dosages are a loose suggestion for someone John-sized, but Shaw is not what she would call a large person. She thinks she’s being nice letting her have the adult dose. 

While Shaw makes little snuffling noises and twitches, Root grabs her computer, opens her work files and tries to concentrate. 

The next three days pass in a blur of attempting to code, caring for the sick, and excessive amounts of takeaway. By the time Shaw is back on her feet, Root is genuinely worried she won’t be able to finish her biggest deliverable for the upcoming deadlines, and so reluctantly leaves the Casa with promises to get in touch when she can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote this with a fever but then I really liked it :)


	7. Fuck Me Like One of Your French Girls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skip this one if you're not in it for the smut. This is all smut. ALL. 
> 
> Blame [winged_mammal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/winged_mammal/pseuds/winged_mammal) because honestly this is all her fault. 
> 
> **content warning** whiny shaw. why is this hot for me? I don't know, deal with it. root in glasses, multitasking, strap ons, blowjobs, timed fucking, excessively long fucking, extended orgasm delay, oral, face sitting

“Roooot,” Shaw sets her third empty beer bottle down with a clunk on Root’s bedside table, rolling herself towards the edge of the bed, “I’m bored!” 

Root sighs, this not having been the first time she’s heard the complaint this evening. “I did tell you I have this due. I have... three hours before it’s gotta be handed in, and somewhere in this hundred pages of code is something that is fucking my whole life up. So I’m afraid you’re going to have to deal.” She doesn’t feel the need to point out if she hadn’t been at Shaw’s house for most of last week, single-handedly making sure everyone was fed, medicated and alive, she probably would have finished this part of her project days ago. It’s a relatively complex app design, but nothing she can’t handle. However, she clearly fucked up somewhere due to all the distractions, and now the deadline for finding her errors is rapidly approaching. 

“Well I didn’t think it would take you this long!” Shaw complains, sliding off the bed and padding towards the kitchen, “you’ve been coding for six hours already, aren’t you due for a break?” 

“‘Due for’, maybe. ‘Able to have’, no. Grab me some juice?” She frowns at the screen, pushing her glasses up with her forefinger, scrolling through mindless reams of code and trying to keep her brain engaged with it, looking for the source of the problems. 

Shaw clunking back in and leaning on the desk with a new beer and a juice for Root doesn’t really help, but she takes the cold drink anyway and gulps half of it before putting it down. “Thanks.”

Shaw takes a huge swallow of beer, tilting her head back so Root’s eyes can’t help trailing down the smooth line of her throat. “You’re a distraction. I never should have said you could come over,” she drags her gaze away with difficulty and squints at the screen again, scrolling. 

“Laser-focused. That’s what you said. You said it’d be fine if I hung out ‘cause you are undistractable,” Shaw leans down, her best sultry expression on her face, which Root can’t deny is pretty effective, her stomach flipping pleasurably when Shaw keeps talking, “and yet you won’t even let me eat you out while you work. And I’m just... so horny, Root, I haven’t seen you in five days because of this thing, and I was sick the four before that. I haven’t had an orgasm in eleven days. Come play with me.” 

“Why don’t you just jerk off, Shaw?” Root squeezes the bridge of her nose.

“Obviously I tried! It’s not working. I need you,” Shaw pouts at her, and Root can’t say she doesn’t know the feeling of unsatisfying orgasms, the irritation and dissatisfaction of building up and then coming in a way that doesn’t do anything to calm your blood. The fact Shaw could have gone elsewhere and has clearly chosen not to doesn’t escape her notice.

“For fucks’ sake,” Root pushes back from her chair, horny and exasperated. Shaw’s been complaining for the last hour, and while Root realises that Shaw didn’t in fact come over just to watch her work, they’re both frustrated with how long it’s been _and_ she expected to be done hours ago. Of course she’d rather be fucking her, or just hanging out, but this stupid assignment has to get done. And Shaw is not making it easy.

She stalks towards the box under the bed, hearing Shaw’s little excited sound, which makes her smirk even though she’s irritated. “You don’t come til I finish this program, it could be hours,” she warns, pulling a rodeo harness on after kicking her underwear off and picking a dildo. She leaves her tshirt on, and heads back to the desk, sitting down and grabbing her newly acquired dick. “You can get off if you have to, but you can’t get _off_. As in, if you get overwhelmed, you can take a break, but you don’t get to come. Lose the clothes, hop on, stay quiet or grab a gag. Do you need lube?” 

Shaw’s eyes go big, and she sucks her bottom lip into her mouth with a wet little snick before releasing it and sidling over, leaning down to touch Root’s hand where she’s jacking herself, “really?” 

“Yes, really. I’d much rather be fucking you that doing this, but I can probably do both. At least you sitting on my dick will make this somewhat more fun. And I’m laser-focused, remember? I’m more likely to be able to concentrate if I know what you’re doing than if you’re interrupting my train of thought every two minutes, and you’re more likely to shut up if I put something inside you...Plus, I like a challenge.” Root is totally on board with this idea now, and gives Shaw a grin, beckoning her down for a kiss to reassure her, and Shaw melts into the touch, moaning into Root’s mouth before pulling back to strip her clothes off in great haste. 

Once naked, she runs her hand between her legs and makes a quiet sound that sparks Root’s libido in a big way, but she forces it back down determinedly, looking at the left monitor, noting down something in her open file on the right. 

Shaw inches closer, “can I suck you off?” she looks down at Root with a flush in her cheeks and Root closes her eyes briefly against the wave of heat that rushes through her at the question, opens her legs and spins the chair enough that Shaw can crawl between her and the desk in silent permission. 

It takes Shaw a few moments to get situated, and when she curls her hand around Root’s dick at the base, Root takes a big breath and leans her elbows on the desk. Two minutes later she has to turn some music on to drown out the wet little noises coming out of Shaw’s mouth as it wraps around her dick. It really is amazing how much Shaw likes sucking cock.

The insistent pull of Shaw’s mouth and hands proves to be a good rhythmic accompaniment to the awful scanning of code to look for whatever errors are causing Root’s program to spit out a bunch of garbage, it’s just enough distraction that she can still focus, but alleviates the mind-numbing repetition of checking her work, spiking her blood with arousal and contentment. She lowers one hand to cup Shaw’s head gently, playing with her hair as she works. 

She leaves her down there until Shaw starts making little groaning noises with every movement and Root knows she’s touching herself, then wheels back a little and wriggles on the seat, making space for Shaw’s legs to go either side of her hips. 

“Should I gag you, or can you deal?” She asks with interest as she pulls Shaw up by the hair, enjoying the flushed face and swollen lip look Shaw has going on. 

“I’ll be good,” Shaw unfolds from under the desk as Root yanks her, and tentatively lifts up a leg, swinging it over Root’s hip and shuffling forwards, eyes constantly flicking up to meet Root’s like she’s not one hundred percent sure that Root is actually into it. 

Root is, however, very pleased with this idea and drags her in for a violent and convincing kiss, leaving both of them breathing heavily before helping Shaw to settle into place straddling her and kneeling up.

It takes a little organisation, but soon Shaw slides down onto the dildo with a moan and a shudder, her knees pressed tightly against Root’s thighs. Root threads her arms under Shaw’s, curls one around Shaw’s back to help her get settled, rests her chin on Shaw’s shoulder and returns her attention to the screens. 

Shaw cants her hips, and Root shifts a little under her, sliding in the chair so Shaw has better room to wriggle. She’s being very quiet, true to her word, but her rapid breathing and the soft noises of them fucking lodge in Root’s spine, setting a low, unresolved glow in her belly. It feels good, knowing that as soon as she’s done with this stupid program she’s gonna deal with it, and she reads faster, speeding up her analysis but still confident in her accuracy. 

On top of her, Shaw lifts up and down slowly, using her hands on the back of the chair for leverage, until she slips backwards and one elbow knocks Root’s keyboard a little, resulting in a line of nonsense characters spilling over the screen. 

Root huffs in annoyance as Shaw uses her stomach muscles to pull herself back up, wrapping her arm around the back of the chair and holding onto Root’s shoulder with her other hand, grinding against her. 

A few minutes later the same thing happens, and, exasperated, Root taps Shaw’s hip. “Up,” Shaw whines but obeys, lifting up with a sliding noise that makes Root bite her lip and almost lose her resolve to finish the paper before letting either of them get off. But she knows herself too well, is sure that even with the best of intentions they’re not gonna break their dry spell by fucking to a quick orgasm and getting back to work, and Root can’t afford the time before this program has to be uploaded; it has to be in by midnight. Plus, working Shaw up is always a good time, and Root is intrigued to see how long she can stand it for.

She slips off the chair, returning to the box, and grabs two pairs of leather cuffs. She clips one side of each around the ‘spine’ of the chair, gets back in, and taps her dick. “You can cuff yourself once you’re settled. Velcro, so you can unstrap yourself when we’re done, and, bonus, I’ll be trapped in place so definitely won’t be able to stop looking at this stupid code. I’m a genius.” 

“Yeah, total genius,” Shaw murmurs, with a mild note of sarcasm. She strokes Root’s arm and lifts her leg up though, straddling her again, sliding forward until she can push down on Root’s dick, wriggling to get settled. “Good?” It’s a breathless moan.

“Good. Remember, you don’t come until I have time to deal with you properly,” Root states, biting her shoulder as she returns her hands to the keyboards, and hears Shaw strap the cuffs into place around each of her wrists. “Good girl.” On a whim, she sets a timer running on one of her monitors, just to see how long Shaw can go for. 

Shaw makes a pleased noise at being called a good girl, and rocks forwards. Root has settled her harness so it’s not pushing right against her clit, but the sounds and feel of Shaw on top of her are still extremely arousing and Root has to take a couple of deep breaths before she feels settled enough to keep working. 

She attacks her program with renewed vigour, starting from scratch with the section she thinks is causing the errors, stroking Shaw’s lower back whenever she stops typing, feeling her lover’s sweat-damp skin. 

Shaw presses her face into Root’s neck, kissing up her throat and sucking gently in a way that is entirely _too_ distracting until Root taps her thigh, meaning clear. Then she just leans her nose against Root’s shoulder and breathes long and deep, pushing herself up and down in tiny increments using her thigh muscles. 

The grinding, slow movements of Shaw on top of her are a delicious distraction, but Root has always prided herself on her ability to compartmentalise, and she pushes away her arousal, focusing only on her program, finishing her new version of the problematic chunk, reorganising sections and returning to her work flow diagram over and over again to try and streamline the system. 

When it eventually runs without a single error, launching the calls it’s supposed to, and obeying Root’s input, she crows with delight, and Shaw shivers on top of her, “please tell me you’re done,” her voice is thin and high, strumming with arousal and need, and Root strokes down her back as she replies.

“Almost, Sameen. Wait for me,” and Shaw moans pathetically, letting her head rest more fully on Root’s shoulder and tugging at her restraints, curling her hips forward with a whimper.

Root quickly runs a diagnostic, checks her comments make sense and don’t accidentally say something totally inappropriate, considers adding a note saying ‘and all this with a writhing, naked babe on top of me,’ somewhere where it probably won’t get flagged but decides against it before saving her work. 

She navigates to the online upload and waits impatiently for the bar to crawl across the screen, then notices the timer out of the corner of her eye. 

“Well, shit, you’ve been riding me for over an hour, Sameen. You doing okay?” 

Shaw makes an incoherent noise and bites Root’s shoulder gently, and Root curls her arm around her while she watches the progress bar until it proclaims ‘100%’. “It’s done, sweetie, you need to come?” She doesn’t even wait for Shaw to answer, just worms her hand between them. 

It’s a difficult hand position, but it doesn’t matter because just a few seconds of pressure against Shaw’s swollen, clearly tender and throbbing clit sends her over, her teeth sinking into Root’s shoulder violently as she muffles a cry. 

She shudders out her orgasm for what Root idly notes is a little over four minutes, as the timer merrily clicks away on the screen, before she relaxes, falling back and hitting the desk hard, stretched out against the handcuffs and trying to squirm off Root’s dick. 

“Easy, I’ve got you.” Root uses her arm around Shaw to help take her weight, wriggling back so she slides out, leaving Shaw pressed up against, but not penetrated by, the dildo. “Mm, creamy,” she observes, looking at the mess between them with a smug grin before manhandling Shaw’s limp body into a more upright position. “Can you get the cuffs?”

“Mph,” Shaw makes a complainy noise but shifts, and then frees one hand. A moment later the other follows and she drops the cuffs with a clatter in favour of worming her way around in the chair so she’s facing the screen, her whole body limp, sweaty and heavy in Root’s lap. 

“Impressive stamina, sweetie. But we are definitely not done,” Root points out, one arm wrapped around Shaw keeping her from slipping onto the floor. She takes her glasses off and sets them on the table, looking down at her collapsed lover with satisfaction.

Shaw blinks sleepily and arches her back, winding a hand around Root’s neck and tugging her down gently. Root resists for a moment, just because she can, sliding her hand up to pinch Shaw’s nipple on the very edge of roughly, making her squeak, before she leans down for a kiss.

It’s not a great angle, and Root wheels the chair back with her foot, propelling them towards the bed and then breaking away to swat Shaw’s hip until she clambers on to the bed. 

Shaw splays out on her back, still breathing heavily, licking her lips and watching as Root pulls her shirt off over her head and divests herself of her harness. “How do you want me?” Her voice is heady and thick with lust.

“Mmm, six ways from Sunday,” Root purrs, leaning over Shaw and burying her nose between Shaw’s open thighs without warning. 

Shaw moans, drumming her heel on the mattress and gripping the sheets in clenched fists as Root inhales deeply, chasing the scent of her and dragging her tongue through the soaked, swollen folds. 

Root groans, sliding her hands under Shaw’s ass and lifting so Shaw has no choice but to arch, hips off the mattress for Root’s access. She’s totally molten, hot and soft under Root’s tongue as she runs her mouth over the delicate flesh, making Shaw buck and shiver in her hands. 

It’s been too long since she had Shaw like this, writhing against her lips and tongue, she wants to draw it out, but Shaw is already trembling, her leg muscles jerking fiercely and barely able to hold her up as Root scrapes her teeth gently over her soft lips, digging her fingertips into the lush expanse of Shaw’s muscular ass, taking some of her weight. 

Root pulls back for just a second, enough time to push Shaw up the bed, practically jumping after her as soon as she’s settled and wedging her thighs apart with determined hands, grabbing hard enough she knows it will leave small, round fingertip bruises.

She takes a moment to look at Shaw, spread out across the white sheets, all tan skin and skipping muscles, tensing in anticipation as Root leans down and watches Shaw’s sixpack jump tight as she sucks her clit into her mouth, digging her fingers deeper into the soft flesh of Shaw’s inner thighs.

“Fuck, fuck, holy, oh fuck, yeah, don’t stop, God, I missed you so much, yeah, fuck. Fuck me,” Shaw pushes her hand into her own hair, makes a fist, yanking on it and arching her back, pushing her hips up towards Root’s fierce mouth. 

She yells out as she comes, slamming her free hand down onto the bed, tension rocking through her body in waves and quaking out of her as she collapses, pussy clenching under Root’s now-soothing tongue. 

Root laps at her self-indulgently until Shaw moans and pushes her away. Root snickers as she wipes her face off on Shaw’s thigh, since it’s convenient, and then she wriggles up to straddle her, settling down on her hips and watching Shaw’s face intently as she comes down. 

Shaw’s eyes are closed, her body still jerking every few seconds, fingers twitching in the sheets. Her lips are bruised from sucking cock, swollen and parted as she takes deep, gasping breaths. 

Root leans forward and rubs her fingers over Shaw’s lower lip, pushing them into her mouth at the same time as she slides her other hand down her own stomach and between her legs, lifting up and shuddering as she makes contact with her throbbing clit. 

Shaw’s mouth is hot and she automatically sucks on Root’s fingers, fluttering her eyes open to see Root hovering above her. Her eyes flick down to Root’s hand, fingers rubbing between her legs, sending spikes of pleasure through her body and making her breathing hitch and catch. 

Shaw sucks harder, the sensation pulling right through to Root’s groin, making her groan, deep in her belly. She knee-walks up Shaw’s body leaving her fingers in Shaw's mouth until she’s kneeling over her neck, wherein she pulls them free, achingly slowly, and reaches up for her own nipple, using Shaw’s spit to draw damp patterns across the sensitive flesh.

Shaw grins dazedly, wraps her arms around Root’s thighs, wriggles down a little and leans up to press her mouth against Root’s pussy, licking at Root’s busily working fingers. 

She’s clumsy with orgasm, but her mouth is soft and heated. She slides her way over Root’s hand, between the knuckles, pushing her fingers out of the way with her tongue. It’s intensely erotic, the sensations piling up on top of each other and Root pulls her hand away, opting to grab the headboard as Shaw slides a little further and pushes right into Root. 

“Oh..” The startled gasp expands in the quiet room, and Shaw makes a little noise of satisfaction, holding Root’s hips against her mouth and tongue-fucking as deep into Root as she can, hot and slick and fast. 

Root groans, almost overbalancing, leaning forward so she can press her head against her forearms while she rides Shaw’s face, hips grinding down furiously into the pressure and heat of Shaw’s mouth. 

“Oh, fuck, Sameen, put your fucking fingers in me,” Root manages to growl out, leaning forward and probably cutting off Shaw’s air supply. 

Shaw shifts, wriggles, and suddenly her tongue is replaced by her fingers, pushing deep into Root and filling her so abruptly she freezes, teetering on the edge of orgasm and then crashing over as Shaw crosses her fingers, scraping her knuckles against Root’s Gspot and lifting her head to suck on Root’s clit at the exact same time. 

Root’s hand slips off the headboard, cracking her knuckles against the metal as she folds up, but her orgasm takes no prisoners, rocking through her regardless and leaving her gasping, clenching on Shaw’s crossed fingers and gritting her teeth. 

Breathless, she shifts back, Shaw sliding out of her and pulling her body down the bed. Root just flops over and lies on her back, chest heaving, with her hands over her face. 

Shaw wriggles into her side and touches her stomach with tentative fingers, then starts to draw damp but soothing patterns on her abdomen while Root tries to remember what breathing normally feels like. 

“You okay?” Shaw looks up at Root, leaning her chin on Root’s ribcage.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good.” Root gathers herself enough to peek out at Shaw, sliding her arm around her shoulders. “Clearly it’s been way too long...” she remarks dryly, and Shaw snickers, leaning up for a kiss.

“Well, you handed your stuff in. We have all night... Wanna fuck me like one of your French girls?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not the quote,” Root grumbles, pinching Shaw’s side and licking her lip lazily, “shouldn’t _you_ be painting me like one of your French girls?”

“I’m mostly into painting people melting and exploding into stars and stuff, when I paint people. So...” Shaw wriggles closer, flinging her leg over Root’s thigh and making a delightful little wet spot in the process. 

“I feel like I exploded into a star, does that count?” Root yanks at Shaw’s ass to press her even closer, humming in approval as Shaw starts to grind against her gently.

“No, but ask me again later,” Shaw sits up, swings her leg over Root’s hip and slides their pussies together. “First, with the fucking.”


	8. Kick Some Balls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crossover, crossover, CROSSOVER (to the tune of 'makeover, makeover', and if you don't know what that is I can't help you)

“Alright, sweetie. Good luck,” Root tugs on her belt loops roughly and doesn’t let go of Shaw so she can't actually leave. 

Shaw grins up at Root, the look on her face is definitely the one she wears just before she shoves Shaw up against something and presses against her, but sadly there’s no time for that right now.

“Thanks. Don’t miss me too much,” Shaw leans up and nips Root’s lower lip just one last time before reluctantly pulling back and grabbing her backpack and kitbag swinging one over each shoulder.

“Hmm, no promises,” Root grins, sliding her hand around Shaw’s neck and yanking her in to steal one last, extremely sexual kiss that sends little fireworks buzzing through Shaw’s stomach before giving her a little shove in the direction of the train.

Shaw sends a glower over her shoulder as she climbs up the stairs, uncomfortably aroused and now even less excited about the three hour train ride ahead of her, “you’re the worst,” she grumbles before disappearing into the carriage. 

Root doesn’t wait to wave her off, which is good, that soppy shit is for suckers, but Shaw’s phone does ping half an hour later with a graphic image of Root jerking off that does absolutely nothing for her current pants situation. 

SHAW @ ROOT // I hate you //

ROOT @ SHAW // Well, I just came all over my fingers thinking about you, so I guess that’s basically the same thing? //

SHAW @ ROOT // I thought you had so much work to do for that stupid company that you were gonna be busy, not that you’d have your hands down your pants as soon as you got home //

ROOT @ SHAW // Now I’m relaxed and ready to work //

Shaw grins but doesn’t reply, shifting uncomfortably in her seat as the myriad sore spots on her back from Root’s nails twinge, and settling down for a nap. She’s always had the enviable ability to fall asleep without much effort, and she sets an alarm on her phone before drifting off. 

When she wakes up, the world outside the train is gray and wet, rivulets of water sprinting down the windows, and she grimaces, fishing in her backpack for a beanie and an umbrella. The train pulls into her station just as she finishes stuffing everything back where it belongs, and she begrudgingly exits the carriage, waits impatiently at the turnstiles and then grabs a taxi, checking the address on her phone before giving it to the driver.

She’s not nervous, although she’s fully aware that these tryouts are a pretty big deal. Soccer has become unexpectedly important to her, evolving from a game she played because her housemates did and she’d been a bit of a natural at, into something she actively loves and can’t imagine life without, especially since her martial arts dreams got kind of derailed. The national team showing an interest in her is a big deal, even if it does mean she has to spend the whole week of spring break away from uni. 

At least it’ll give Root a chance to figure out the weird stuff she’s been swearing about in her project. God only knows when Shaw’s gonna get her own work done, but she always performs well under pressure and her course load isn’t too heavy this year, thanks to taking classes all through last summer and the extra work she’d taken on in her first couple of years in anticipation of her final year being a blur of martial arts. Blur of soccer instead isn’t so bad, though. The satisfaction she gets from doing her part in the well-oiled machine of TM has really changed the way she thinks about teamwork. And she’s certainly glad she prepared for a busy sporting final year now, what with Root taking up a lot of her free time.

Shaw can’t hide a grin as she thinks about riding Root’s dick while she was working on that timed delivery a couple of weeks ago. Fuck, Root is nasty, it’s amazing. Shaw sometimes feels like she won the kink lottery, and the fact she doesn’t mind spending non-naked time with Root either is just an unbelievable bonus. Realising she’s getting dangerously close to waxing poetic, Shaw cracks her neck from side to side and rereads the email the soccer coordinator sent to her. 

There's supposed to be sixty girls on this weeklong training course. Scouts from city teams and the national squad will be watching, taking notes, assessing them on a variety of skills. 

Shaw actually feels like kind of an asshole that she was the only girl asked to attend from the uni team, but Zoe had pointed out that neither she or Joss had ever intended on becoming professional athletes, where Shaw had long considered it and was in the appropriate physical shape. Zoe maintains that the scouts noticed Shaw partly for that, that anyone looking at Shaw could see that she was dedicated to fitness and incredibly committed, which made her feel a bit better. 

The taxi pulls up at the front of a nice looking hotel, Shaw knows it’s a three star from the information pack. She’s supposed to report to the front desk, so she thanks the driver and pays her before shouldering her bags and sauntering in. 

There’s a gaggle of twenty-something, athletic-looking girls heading across the lobby, and Shaw eyes them up, assuming they are here for the same reason she is. The girl in front, a tall and somehow familiar brunette with piercing green eyes gives her a nod and she jerks her chin in response, feeling a little hopped up on adrenaline all of a sudden. 

“You here for the soccer?” The receptionist inquires in a bored voice and Shaw turns to face him, nodding.

“Yeah, Sameen Shaw, from SFU,” Shaw shifts from foot to foot and waits for the man to find her information.

“Here we go, room 314, your roommate has already checked in. You’ll find a packet waiting for you in your room. Have a nice stay,” he states in a monotone, and Shaw takes her key from his clammy hand with a nod.

The stairs wind up the side of the lobby, and she takes them two at a time, wondering if she’s late and everyone is already settled, or if people will be straggling in all day. She’s not excited about having a roommate, but living with four people has taught her a lot about sharing space, and Shaw knows that one of the things scouts will be looking at this week is attitude, team spirit. 

She pauses outside her room for a second and cracks her neck from side to side before beeping herself in with her keycard, plastering a smile on her face as she walks in. 

There’s a girl with wild dark hair sprawled out on one of the twin beds, holding a heavy metal magazine and wearing skinny jeans, a tight black tshirt and, as Shaw’s gaze finally makes it to her face, a smirk. 

“I guess you’re my roomie. I’m Missy,” the girl says with a faint California twang, sitting up and swinging her bare feet onto the floor, dropping the magazine on the bed, “you don’t look like a prissy asshole, excellent.” She looks kinda like Faith from Buffy, and it makes Shaw snort.

“I’m Shaw,” Shaw shuts the door and kicks her shoes off, “I’ve never been called a prissy asshole in my life,” she smirks, swinging her bag onto the floor at the end of the empty bed, “asshole in general, often.”

“Nice,” Missy grins, stretching and showing off a muscled stomach as her shirt rides up, “housekeeping; I’m a dyke, my girlfriend is here with me, you’re definitely gonna walk in on us making out at some point, so if you’re a homophobe lemme know now so I can beat it out of you. Also, I quit smoking two years ago so if you smoke and you come in here smelling like cigs I might accidentally murder you, finally don’t ever wake me up and we’ll get along fine.”

Shaw can’t help laughing, sitting down and yanking her hoodie over her head, “not a ‘phobe, don’t smoke, no worries. In fact, if she’s as hot as you are feel free to make out in here as much as you like.” 

“Tempting, but Torrence, sadly, is a little more uptight than I am.” Missy points at the table where a glossy looking pamphlet is carefully stacked on top of a cellophane wrapped shirt, and a couple of other things, “timetable states we start at ten tomorrow. I was about to head down and grab a beer, scope out the competition. Wanna join?” 

“I really do,” Shaw slides off the bed, finds a clean shirt in her backpack and yanks the sweaty, trainride shirt—that may or may not have a bit of come on it from Root molesting her before they managed to get out the door—over her head. 

Behind her, Missy whistles, “well damn, tell me you’re into some kinky shit or point me in the direction of the fucker that trashed you?” 

Shaw makes a face, abruptly remembering the sheer level of marks left on her from the goodbye sex Root and she had indulged in the previous day. None of them are especially dramatic on a muscular level, due to the fact Shaw needed to be fit to play hard, but the visual is impressive, and she’d totally forgotten, “ah, kinky shit,” she admits, pulling her clean shirt on as quickly as she can.

Missy snorts, “nice, looks like you had a lot of fun. I hope,” as she jumps to her feet, grabbing a hoodie from her suitcase.

Shaw side-eyes her for a moment, then relaxes when it seems like Missy doesn’t give a shit what Shaw does with her free time, “always do,” she scoops up her own sweater and heads to the door, “kind of forgot a bunch of strangers were gonna be seeing me with my clothes off this week, in the heat of the moment. Oops.” 

“Yeah, maybe don’t let the coaches get too good a look at you, never know what stuff tips them one way or the other. Hey, what position do you play?” Missy follows her out the door, patting her pockets like she’s checking she has all her things before shutting the door behind her and locking it. 

“Center Forward,” Shaw slopes down the corridor, shoves her hands in her pockets, “you?” 

“Striker,” Missy raps on a door and gestures at it, motions short and aggressive, “Torrence’s a winger, fast as fuck. Nice we’re not in direct competition,” the door opens and a blonde, bouncy looking girl in a blue jeans and a nicely pressed shirt flashes Shaw a wide, infectious grin she can’t help returning at half-wattage.

“Hey, making friends already, Missy? No fair, my roomie hasn’t even arrived yet!” Shaw wonders for a moment how someone who looks like a rich cheerleader ended up with a grungy rocker type and then shrugs, offering her hand to the blonde. 

“Shaw,” the girl takes her hand with a grin, shakes it and closes the door behind her.

“Torrence, good to meet you. Are you excited for the camp? It’s going to be so much fun!” She glides down the corridor, cocking her head at Shaw.

“Yeah, I guess,” Shaw agrees, licking her lips, the sheer level of enthusiasm making her feel a little uncomfortable. She wishes Root was here to do the small talk thing, or Zoe. Anyone, really. 

Missy catches her eye and gives her a lopsided grin, “don’t mind her, she’s constantly over-caffeinated.” 

Shaw manages a smile, as Torrence pouts at Missy, “oh, did you find another strong silent type. Ugh. Guess I’ll have to find someone else to amuse me while you two sit and brood stoically.”

“Sounds good to me,” Missy snickers, nudging her girlfriend’s hip as they start down the stairs, “or we can just spike your wine cooler and watch you dance all by yourself...”

“You wouldn’t,” Torrence glowers, and Shaw relaxes further, watching the interplay with something like curiosity. 

The bar is packed with athletes in little gangs, eyeing each other up, some of the more social ones clearly bouncing from group to group. Shaw is glad she’s been placed with Missy, as the constant stream of introductions gets a little wearing and a lot repetitive, but Torrence has enough social energy for all three of them. Shaw passes the time quietly chatting to Missy about some of the players and knocking back several beers.

The tall brunette she spotted earlier is holding court in a corner, surrounded by a group of confident looking babes, and when she meets Shaw’s eyes again Shaw gets the weird feeling she knows who she is. Pulling her phone out for a quick google confirms it, Lexa Woods, top pick defender from the university league. Shaw is suddenly glad she doesn’t play defence, and she tries to place the other major names she’s heard of. 

Within half an hour she thinks they’ve accurately identified Raven Reyes, striker, Octavia Blake, defence, Alice White, midfield, Claudia Donovan, striker and Myka Bering, winger, from their respective soccer jackets. Her major competition for center forward is a blonde called Anya Trigedasleng who clearly knows who she is, judging from the challenging eye contact. Shaw might be a sub in the bedroom but she can sure as shit stare someone out, and the energy between them crackles dangerously until a group sits between them, cutting off their line of sight with no clear dominant party. 

The rest of the night passes relatively smoothly, and when Missy winks at her and drags Torrence outside by the hand, Shaw decides to call it a night rather that sit by herself and invite company. She heads back to the room, changing quickly, getting ready for sleep and sliding into bed with her phone. 

22:20 SHAW @ ROOT // I socialised. It was adequate. There’s some fucking fierce players here //

22:25 ROOT @ SHAW // nice one. Kick some balls tomorrow, I’ll be thinking of you running around all sweaty and panting... oh, dear //

Shaw smirks to herself as her phone lights up showing {Root calling} and shoves a hand down her jammy shorts as she picks up, “hey,”

“Hey yourself,” Shaw can hear the smirk in Root’s voice, and she snuggles down, getting comfy and sinking into the sound of Root’s voice.

She doesn’t even hear Missy come in an hour later, passed out with her phone on her chest and her hand on her pulled up tshirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you who listen to me complain on a regular basis will know that, while I was in the depth of wisdom toothery and codeined up to the eyeballs, I wrote 6000 words that I then had to mostly throw out, because for some reason my brain thought a crossover with BtVS (which they are WATCHING) wasn't problematic. Anyway, this is what I ended up with after sobering up.


	9. Sweating Your Balls Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's play the game of 'how many references Crash can put in one chapter'

Shaw thanks her biology for the fact she can get by on very little sleep when her alarm blares at five thirty the next morning. She slaps it quiet quickly, but Missy doesn’t move an inch. Shaw grabs her swimming kit and scoffs a power bar before hauling ass down to the pool, wanting to get a few laps in before breakfast. Swimming will wake her body up right and also prove to anyone paying attention that _yes,_ she works hard even on days with late starts. 

The pool is empty when she arrives, but by the time she pulls herself out of the water a few other swimmers are putting in a workout. She showers off and is in line for breakfast by eight. 

After filling her plate with enough slow release carbs and protein to get her through to lunch, Shaw looks around the room. It’s pretty busy, and there’s not a lot of space. Neither Missy or Torrence are in sight, and with a sigh Shaw resigns herself to joining the table with with most free chairs. 

It’s not until she’s sliding her tray down that she realises it’s the table occupied by Lexa Woods and a glowering Anya, she swallows her inner groan and nods at them, fully prepared to eat silently and get out of there, she doesn’t want to start a beef with someone over the fact they play the same position. 

Lexa leans on one elbow, twiddling her knife between her fingers in a way that looks like she’d be equally comfortable if it was a proper blade rather than blunt cutlery. It’s hot. Shaw drags her eyes away with difficulty. 

“Shaw, right?” There is a hint of a smirk in Woods’ voice and it makes Shaw’s ears heat, just a little.

“Yup. Woods, Trigedasleng,” Shaw probably murders the pronunciation of Anya’s surname, but no one corrects her so she takes a big mouthful of food, resisting the urge to make a crack about fitting that name on a jersey. 

Woods nods at her and Anya glares, but the breakfast manages to pass in relative peace until the girl Shaw previously identified as Raven Reyes sits down next to her and, in the sitting process, pinches a piece of bacon right off her plate. 

Shaw _almost_ stabs her in the hand with her fork, it’s really close, and Raven barks laughter, putting her hands up, bacon between thumb and fore finger, “yo, sorry, I thought you were Maya.” She eats the bacon.

Shaw grinds her teeth for a moment and swallows her initial anger, nodding, “no worries.”

“Shaw, yeah? You fight, right? I saw a video of you smashing the hell out of that enormous girl a couple of years ago. Badass. I’m Reyes. Raven.”

Shaw impales a sausage and picks it up without cutting it, relaxing a little. She can talk about fighting, “the twenty twelve championships? Yeah, she was fucking huge. Six six, I found out after.” The sausage is delicious.

“You kicked her ass though, it was beautiful. I kickbox, by the way. We should spar sometime.” Raven munches on a buttery piece of toast that she dips in ketchup as she goes.

“Nice,” Shaw finishes her food and gets to her feet, “see ya on the pitch.”

“You’ve got that right,” Anya breaks her silence to deliver the comment in a threatening voice, and Shaw smirks at her, imagining her face says ‘bring it on’.

“Later,” Raven says cheerfully, choosing to ignore the tension, she waves her toast at Lexa, “did you get that message from Lincoln, fucking party central without us, eh?” 

Shaw doesn’t hear the reply. When she gets back to her room it’s ninish and Missy is nowhere in sight. Shaw fires off a quick text to Root before laying down on her bed and getting some of her reading done. 

8:51 SHAW @ ROOT // they do a good breakfast here //

The reply comes through just as Shaw’s alarm goes off and she slides off the bed and gets into her kit. The black shirt with ‘SHAW’ on the back is pretty cool, and she checks herself out in the mirror for a second before leaving the room, looking at her phone. 

9:40 ROOT @ SHAW // I like you for breakfast, but I made do with OJ and toast //

9:42 SHAW @ ROOT // you better eat while I’m away, bird human. I need you strong and virile //

Shaw is expected in the gym at ten, and she knows the way from her morning scope so she gets there with a little time to spare which she uses to stretch. She sees a few other black shirts, and she passed girls in different colours so she assumes this is her team for the week and looks around with interest while warming her muscles back up. 

She spots Raven again, who gives her a friendly grin, standing with a dark-haired girl whose shirt says ‘Blake’, that Shaw recognises from her research. There’s also a ‘Rizzoli’, ‘Isles,’ and a ‘Wells’, as well as a butch blonde she can’t see the name on who’s already lifting, being spotted by a slender but tough-looking girl with rich dark hair and golden skin. 

Missy and Torrence burst in, followed closely by a stern-looking bald dude and a woman with wild, frizzy hair, both too old to be anything but the coaches. This thought is confirmed as the woman whistles with her fingers between her teeth and everyone turns to face them. 

“Alright, children. I’m Diz, this is Radcheck, you do what we tell you when we tell you, you get me?” She props her hands on her hips and juts her chin at them, everyone nods and murmurs agreement. 

“So, you’re getting paired up, and you will monitor your partner accurately. I hope you’re warmed up already. Blake and Rizzoli, stage one,” she points at a pair of running machines with a ‘one’ above them, “Reyes and Shaw, stage two, Wells and Isles, stage three, Pantone and Thrace, stage four, Shipman and Valerii, stage five. You will find clipboards with instructions to mark down your stats at each station, five minute break between stages which I suggest you use to read the instructions. Hop to.” Diz claps her hands when no one moves for a split second, “do I have to repeat myself?” 

Everyone scatters, Shaw and Raven to a set of mats, Shaw grabs the stopwatch and clipboard under the number 2, “push ups and sit ups,” she points out to Raven, I count you for two minutes of each and you count me for the same, breaks are fine but they’re looking for total number, “you wanna go first or second?” 

“Second,” Raven grins, “so I know what I have to beat.” 

Shaw snickers, her pushup game is on point and her sits up are also pretty good, and these are horizontal instead of inclined. She’s fairly confident she can do the two minutes without a break, then rest when Raven does her first set. 

“One minute til we start, kids,” Diz yells, and Shaw lies down with her knees bent, touching her temples with her fingers. The whistle blows and Shaw pulls herself up with her stomach muscles, pacing herself at her normal speed, not going for any records with the first exercise of the day. 

She manages seventy eight sit ups to Raven’s sixty nine, and ninety two pushups to Raven’s eighty one. They change stations, and Raven trounces her on the running machines. The rest of the morning passes in a blur of competitiveness and brutal exercise. Shaw keeps count of the challenges she ‘won’ and is pleased to note that although Raven had an edge over her in the cardio based stations, Shaw’s ‘winning’ over all. She makes a mental note to run more often.

By lunchtime, Shaw is feeling pretty wrung out, and has a new appreciation for the difficulties she’ll be facing this week. Her afternoon is filled with soccer drills, then a match where they are assigned a keeper, Martha Jones, who apparently they will be with for every match. 

Shaw summons the energy to be nominally polite and introduce herself. They play decently, but lose 3-2, mostly thanks to the keeper in the other net, whose jersey says 'Sun Bak' and who manages to be in every corner of the net without seeming to move. She's so fast, it's like she teleports. At the end of the day Shaw’s ready to fall straight into bed when she finally makes it back to her room at eight. 

Instead of getting to go to sleep that early, she forces herself to study for an hour after dinner, and crashes at nine thirty, barely having the energy to text Root goodnight and let her know that the day was a sweaty nightmare.


	10. Schlong Distance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the worst ever chapter title but I CANNOT STOP LAUGHING.
> 
> Skip this if you are not in it for the smut, this is all smut no plot. 
> 
> **content warning** phone sex, mutual masturbation, voice kink, praise kink, vibrator, dirty talk I guess? Mentions of fisting and BDSM.

Shaw spends the next two days so busy she barely has time to reply to Root’s texts, although the daily pornographic image she receives like clockwork every night always earn a response. And when Root texts her pictures of Bear she replies to those as well, good behaviour must be rewarded after all. 

Sharing a room when you’re too tired to even jerk off isn’t actually that terrible, but when Root sends her a picture of a selection of BDSM equipment, carefully laid out on her kitchen table, with Shaw’s crotchless panties in pride of place, surrounded by toys, lube, handcuffs, floggers, and even what looks like it might be an actual riding crop, Shaw’s libido drags itself out of the cave it’s been living in with some demands. 

Shaw thinks about it for a moment and then shrugs to herself, “Missy?” She waves to get her attention.

The brunette looks up from her magazine, pulling her headphones off one ear so she can hear, quirking a brow, “what’s up?”

“Would you mind going to hang out with Torrence for... half an hour?” Shaw can’t decide between waggling her eyebrows, which she would do with her friends, or sliding away from eye contact which she would do with someone she didn’t know. Missy is kind of smack in the middle of her two modes of communication at the moment. 

Missy just laughs, and swings her feet off the bed, “alriiiight, get some. Tell your lover I said to leave you fit to walk!” 

The word ‘lover’ makes Shaw twitch, but Missy doesn’t notice, grabbing her wallet and keys off the side. And Shaw is pretty sure she never gave Missy a gender, so she guesses ‘lover’ is a workable catch all. 

As soon as the door shuts behind her roommate she dials Root, who picks up on the fifth ring, “I have half an hour,” Shaw blurts out before Root can say anything, and hears an airy laugh over the line. 

“Oh, you do?” Shaw can hear rustling, and maybe fabric moving. Is Root getting undressed, is she in bed? “Tell me what you look like, Shaw,” Root murmurs, and Shaw licks her lips.

“I’m... uh, lying on top of the covers, wearing...” she wonders if she should lie, make it sexier, but can’t think of anything else she would realistically have on and sighs, “black boxers and a white tank.” 

Music clicks on on the other end of the line, “pull your top up for me, Sameen, let me see your body. Send me a picture.”

Shaw swallows quietly and wriggles down the bed, hoists her tanktop up over her breasts and takes a selfie, tensing her stomach muscles deliberately and angling her torso for maximum boob plus muscle effect. She sends it to Root and then presses the speaker button and carefully sets the phone down on the bedside table.

Root’s voice sounds a little crackly through the speaker, but it still reaches into Shaw’s guts and twists them when she says, “fuck, yeah. Close your eyes, and scrape across your stomach. Leave marks, like I would.” 

Shaw’s breathing catches and she blinks, looking at her hand for a moment and then digging her nails in just above her hips. She closes her eyes and imagines it’s Root dragging across her belly, little strips of stinging fire left in her wake. The sensation shoots right into her groin and she lets out a little noise, Root must hear because she starts talking again.

“Good. You’re such a good girl, Sameen. Fuck, you do what you’re told so well, don’t you?” It’s clearly a rhetorical question, but Shaw nods as though Root can see her, pleasure suffusing her body at the words.

“Take your tanktop and leave it round your neck, so you can feel it over your throat while you lie there. Like I’m going to pull it tight any minute. Then pinch your nipples for me, sweetie. Let me hear you.”

Shaw takes a shuddering breath, and sits up to get her arms free of her tanktop, which she obediently leaves around her neck, going as far as to wind it around her hand a few times before lying on top of the knot she’s made, not tight enough to be actually restrictive, but close enough to the sensation of a loose collar or restraint that it makes her shiver, gooseflesh popping out on her arms and thighs. Her center throbs with want. 

She bites her lip as she brings her hands to her breasts, cupping them and then squeezing the nipples between finger and thumb, not trying to swallow the low groan that bubbles out of her throat.

“Harder,” Root’s breath is heavy, her voice a little husky, and Shaw knows she’s touching herself right now and it makes her moan as she pinches more viciously, using her nails, sharp shocks of pain-pleasure crackling down her body and into her groin. She wants to touch her pussy so, so badly, it aches, but Root is in charge here. 

“Are your hips moving, baby? Do you want me to touch you?” Shaw hears the low hum of a vibrator clicking on and makes a whimpering noise without meaning to, a sound of pure need, and Root chuckles throatily, “it sounds like you need something.” 

“Yeah, yeah, Root, I want you to touch me,” Shaw pinches her nipples again, arches into the touch, hips shifting off the mattress.

“Put your hand over your shorts, touch yourself, Sameen, and keep pinching your nipples with the other hand,” Root makes the I-just-touched-my-clit sound she does sometimes and Shaw visualises what she must look like, lying on the bed with a vibrator between her thighs, gently grinding against it. She slips her hand down her body, cups herself through the damp fabric of her boxers.

“Fuck, Root, I’m so wet,” she pushes her fingers against herself, feels the give of heated, swollen flesh, groans quietly.

“I bet you are, darlin’, you’re always wet for me,” Root’s voice is a little higher now, a little thready, “you’re so wet I think about fisting you, sometimes. When you open right up for me,” Shaw almost chokes on the involuntary noise that bursts out of her. She’s never been fisted, never even really thought about it, but Root dropping it into phone sex as a suggestion apparently works wonders for her.

“Root,” the name just tumbles out as she presses against her clit through her boxers.

“Yeah, sweetie, I’m here, you’re being so good, I like making you wait, because you’re always so good,” Shaw shivers at the praise, her stomach squirming pleasantly. 

“Are you wet enough to fuck yourself?” Root asks with a little hitch in the middle, and Shaw arches against her own hands.

“Yeah, yeah I am.” 

“Good, I want you to put two fingers inside yourself, Sameen. Don’t touch your clit, that’s mine, you can touch it when I tell you to,” the possessive note in her voice sparks white heat in Shaw’s belly as she slides her hand into her shorts.

“Can I take my shorts off?”

“Did I tell you to take your shorts off?” Root hums, her voice sounding a little distant and then Shaw can hear the vibrator buzzing more clearly. She imagines Root has put the phone on the bed so she can use two hands.

“N...no, you didn’t.” She moans, pushing her middle finger into her own pussy, shocked by how soaked she is, how easily she slides in, swollen, sensitive flesh welcoming the sensation. She curls her finger for a moment and then pulls out, cocking her wrist and adding her ring finger, trying so hard not to brush against her clit that the angle is uncomfortable, the cotton of her shorts pushing against her wrist and hand awkwardly. 

“So what do you think? Keep them on, fuck yourself,” Root’s breathing is totally erratic now, Shaw knows she’s getting off on telling Shaw what to do, and that thought winds her up even tighter. She clenches on her fingers as she crooks them.

“Oh, fuck,” she doesn’t try at all to mask the little noises bubbling out of her as she moves her fingers, let’s Root hear her heavy breathing and the gasps.

“Fuck Sameen, I bet you feel so good, so fucking good, trying to get your fingers deeper, I get so hot thinking about how it feels to be inside you, fuck, oh, touch your clit, sweetie, but don’t you fucking dare come without me telling you to, oh,” Root gasps, but still manages to keep a solid note of command in her voice that makes Shaw clench and grind down on her hand, making a desperate noise as her palm makes contact with her clit.

She moves her whole hand, sliding the base of it up and down against her clit, getting as deep as she can and then pulling back, just about brushing against her gspot with every thrust. She arches her head back, closing her eyes and listening to Root’s breathing, her orgasm building inside her as she imagines Root spread out on her back, pale skin and flashing eyes, her hands working between her legs. 

“Please, please,” she whines without meaning to, inexorable heat coiled between her legs, trying to contain the sensations swirling through her.

“Not yet, baby, not yet,” Root moans, and Shaw thinks she’s making her wait deliberately, thinks they’re both ready to come but Root just wants her to stay spinning in the weightless moments before dropping over, and she feels her inner muscles trembling at the thought.

“Fuck, fuck, Root,” her eyes are squeezed shut and she stops touching her nipple in the hopes it will help hold off the breaking waves, breathing in tiny, stop-start little gasps as her feet scrabble on the mattress.

Finally, just when she thinks she can’t possibly wait any longer without stopping touching herself completely, which would be cheating, Root gasps, “come for me, sugar”, and Shaw knows she’s doing exactly that on the other end of the line, can hear it in her voice. 

So beyond ready to come, Shaw moans, her muscles slamming down on her fingers as her back arches off the mattress and she grinds hard against her clit to drag the orgasm out, finally collapsing limply with her hand still jammed down her shorts, cupping herself tenderly. 

Root is breathing heavily “twenty eight minutes. Might wanna put your shirt back on,” in a rough, sex-filled voice, and Shaw can’t help the weak little chuckle that bursts out of her.

She pulls her shirt down clumsily, sticking her fingers in her mouth for easy clean up before replying, “so, fisting? You’re into that?” She feels light and giddy.

“It’s not a huge kink, but yeah, I guess,” Root sounds lazy and cozy now, Shaw thinks she’s probably curled around a pillow, “you? Seemed to rev your engine.”

“I don’t know,” Shaw stretches lazily, and there’s a knock at the door so she puts her hand over the phone to call, “all clear.” 

Missy slips in and grabs her pajamas, smirking at Shaw’s dishevelled state.

“I gotta go” Shaw rolls her eyes at Missy’s face but with what she’s sure is an epically pleased expression. She knows she has a tendency to look smug after sex, especially if people know she’s been fucking. 

“Think about it, we’ll talk when you get back. Sweet dreams, sweetie,” Root sounds half-asleep already actually, and Shaw smiles and then wipes the expression off her face, discarding it as soppy.

“Night, Root.” She hangs up.

“Root? That does not help me in my quest to wriggle details about your fuck-friend out of you,” Missy comments, facing away as she pulls her jammies on.

“Not her given name,” Shaw replies, feeling relaxed and in a good mood, enough to spill a little info, anyway, “what do you wanna know? She’s a comp-sci major, nerdy, but in a hot way, and kinky as fuck.” 

“Awesome,” Missy slides under the blankets and gestures at the light, “I’m actually too tired to harass you. Ready to hit the hay?”

“Yeap,” Shaw quickly puts her phone on silent and plugs it in before clicking the bedside light off and plunging the room into darkness as she wriggles down. After realising she should definitely have changed her shorts, she makes do with pulling them down a little.

She has very, very sweet dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH  
> crossover
> 
> Bring It On- Missy Pantone, Torrence Shipman
> 
> The 100- Lexa Woods, Raven Rayes, Octavia Blake, Anya I Stole The Language Name For Her Surname and mentions of Lincoln and Maya
> 
> Battlestar Galactica- Kara Thrace (aka Starbuck) Sharon Valerii (AKA Boomer, AKA light of my life) 
> 
> Warehouse 13- HG Wells and Myka Bering
> 
> Leverage- Alice White (Parker's main alias)
> 
> Rizzoli and Isles- Rizzoli and Isles
> 
> Starship Troopers- Diz and Radcheck (YOU GET ME)
> 
> Torchwood- Gwen Cooper and Toshiko Sato although she hasn't been mentioned yet
> 
> Sense 8 - Sun Bak 
> 
> I think that's everyone :D


	11. Fisting Wood

Soccer camp, it turns out, does not contain nearly as much soccer as Shaw initially hoped. Well, there’s soccer every single day, but she feels like she spends far more time running around cones, doing bleep tests, lifting weights with people watching her critically and even doing jump tests than she does playing. Although in reality there’s a game every evening, sorted by shirt colour, with a goalie assigned to them for each game from the group that is only goalies, presumably doing different drills and things. 

Shaw is constantly exhausted, concerned about her school work, and feeling more and more on edge. Fortunately, she keeps being paired with Raven, and they get along pretty well aside from the initial error concerning Shaw’s food and where it belongs, and they do a good job at hauling each other onwards when it seems like they just have to fall over. 

Anya continues to eyeball Shaw violently whenever they encounter each other, and Shaw does her best blank, non-engaged face whenever a supervisor is around but returns the aggression in spades when they aren’t being watched. 

They don’t face off in a game until the very last day of camp. Every single player is bruised, grazed, a little wild-eyed and strung out after eight days of extreme intensity, and Shaw’s temper is on the edge of fraying at all times. So when Anya and her go head to head on the field, and Anya gets wilder and wilder in her tackles, she allows a little of her vicious streak to show. 

Nothing illegal, nothing dangerous, but enough to piss Anya off to the point of taking a swing at her, it seems. 

As the surprise fist makes painful contact with her jaw, Shaw stumbles back and hopes the refs saw who started it before ducking a second punch and shoving Anya violently in the chest to push her away, “back the fuck off,” she boils, clenching her fists. Raven races back from upfield and gets between them, holding her hands out, only seconds before the refs are there. 

Anya gets sent off, and Shaw is glad she held onto her temper instead of breaking Anya in half when Diz gives her an approving nod, “you’re the martial artist.”

It’s not a question, but Shaw nods, adrenaline still pounding in her veins, clenching her aching jaw and breathing heavily, “yeah.”

“Had our eye on you in your first year, but thought we’d never get you to commit cause of the fighting.” Diz muses, noting something down on clipboard.

“I’m not really doing that anymore. I like the team thing,” Shaw mumbles, wondering if it’s the right thing to say, feeling like her fate hangs in the balance of this conversation and having no idea what the right thing would be.

Diz just nods and picks up her whistle, “alright, back to it.” The rest of the game passes uneventfully, and ends in a nil-nil draw, mostly thanks to Lexa on defence on the other team, holding the strikers at bay long enough for the rest of the team to get back every single time Shaw’s side get up in the box.

***

“I don’t understand,” Root feels hot, like her hair is standing on end and her skin is tingling, she thinks she’s probably flushed.

Across the table, Control steeples her fingers and raises a pointed eyebrow, “you’ve done good work, Groves, and Rylatech are happy with what you’ve done, but they think they want to hand over to professionals now, as is their prerogative. They’d like all your files to date and you can hand in a related—but not specific to them—app for the final deliverable. I remind you you have no rights to anything you produced over this project, they retain ownership.” Her tone brooks no argument.

Root swallows her anger, swipes a hand through her hair to give her a second, while, under the table she digs nail crescents into her thigh, “I’ve been working on this for six months.” She keeps her tone mild, face open, recovering her composure on the surface. 

“And that has been noted, and appreciated. However, you have reached the end of this particular road,” Control pauses, leans forward slightly, “let it go, Groves.” There is a definite note of warning in her words.

Root sits back and blinks, licking her lips, “and my thesis, I just create something new?”

“Your grades won’t suffer because the company backed out, we have what you’ve done so far and as long as you show you’ve used the work you’ve been doing you can redevelop. You still have almost three months, and I’d be happy to grant you an extension if necessary.” Root thinks she can actually hear sympathy now, which seems unlikely, Control usually shows about the same amount of emotion as a calculator. 

“Alright.” She keeps a look of annoyed disinterest on her face as she gets to her feet.

“And Groves, _all_ their code, all your files. You’ll be breaching the confidentiality form you signed before starting this project if you keep anything.” Control leans back, eyeing her.

“I know,” Root nods, swinging her laptop bag over her shoulder, “I’ll copy everything onto a harddrive for you and scrub my computer,” she lies easily, with absolutely no intention of dropping out of this unsought mystery. 

“Good,” Control dismisses her by looking down and pushing her glasses up her nose as she bends over her keyboard.

Root manages to get all the way out of Electronics and halfway to the Casa before she remembers Shaw won’t be back until early the next morning, and her frustration bubbles over uncontrollably. 

She smashes her fist into a tree trunk before she really thinks about it, and the hot bolt of pain shooting through her now bloodied knuckles makes her gasp, but does little to assuage her anger. She kicks the tree a few times for good measure, holding her injured hand across her stomach, and then regains control over herself. She’s grateful no one else is around to see her little meltdown, but she dithers only a minute before continuing on to the Casa. After all, Harold didn’t sign a confidentiality agreement, did he?

***

“I’m not sure about this, Root,” Harold murmurs, clearly uncomfortable, “it was one thing when you were hired to help sort out their systems, but this... this is far from legal.”

“And you said yourself that something less than legal was going on with Rylatech in the first place,” Root points out in her most reasonable tone, absently rubbing at the bandage now wrapped firmly around her right hand, “they work with navigation systems and weaponry, Harold, as well as the biometrics stuff I’ve been doing for them. That’s serious business, it could be cyber terrorism,” she deliberately uses his full first name, wanting him on her side for this. 

“Alright, fine. We can look into it a little further. But we do it safely. Not from here, and the minute we find anything concrete it goes to the FBI. We’re not equipped for this,” Harold looks worried, chewing on his lip.

“I have a couple of friends I can bring in,” Root angles her body openly toward Harold, appealing to his natural protective streak, “it’s the right thing to do.”


	12. Take Me Out to a Feminist Strip Club

Root wakes up to Shaw barrelling into her bedroom and stopping in surprise as she sees Root in the bed.

“Hey, sweetie,” Root mumbles, “sorry, Harry and I were working til really late. I couldn’t face the walk home.” 

Shaw stays in the doorway, her face unreadable, and then shrugs, dropping her bags on the floor and pulling her shirt off over her head, “gonna make it up to me?” she winces as her arms swing back down, pulling one across her chest, “...when I have recovered from being pounded for a week,” she flops down on the bed in her bra and jeans.

“Ooh, being pounded for a week, sounds like you had fun,” Root rolls over to poke Shaw in her muscular belly, “you got butcher.”

“I barely had time to eat, fuck,” Shaw winces away from her prod, “I hurt every single muscle I own and some that might not even be mine but are nevertheless complaining viciously.”

“Poor butch Shaw,” Root doesn’t try to hide her snicker, “did they wear you out?” 

“Temporarily,” Shaw checks her phone and then wriggles out of her pants and closes her eyes, “I’m gonna nap for twenty minutes before class, stay or go but be silent.”

“You’re the one who woke me up” Root points out goodnaturedly, rolling over and wrapping her arms around the pillow.

Shaw just grunts, but it’s only a minute before her hand finds its way into the waistband of Root’s jammy shorts and stays there while they both drift off.

***

Root rolls over as Shaw’s alarm blares, and Shaw drags herself out of bed with short, sharp movements as she grabs clothes and changes.

“Are you angry that I stayed here?” Root asks, somewhat tentatively. Last night when she’d left the library at three a.m. sleeping in Shaw’s bed had seemed like the best possible plan, but with Shaw’s aggressive body language she’s wondering if she’s overstepped an invisible boundary. 

Shaw clenches her jaw, and scoops up her bag, dithering for a second and taking a deep breath, “no. It’s okay. I was, kind of. But... I’m always angry first." She pokes her toes into the carpet, not looking at Root, "I’m not angry with you, I’m exhausted and I have a class I haven’t had time to prep for, but I’m not angry with you.” She exhales, scraping her hand through her hair, “have lunch with me when I’m done with bio?” 

“Yeah,” Root squirms into a sitting position, props her hands on her knees, wincing as she jars her injury, Shaw’s eyes flick down.

“What did you do?” She strides toward the bed, her eyebrows furrowing, and Root ruefully holds up her hand for inspection. Shaw makes quick work of unwinding the bandage that Harold helped her put on, revealing puffy purple that extends a couple of inches behind her knuckles.

“I’d love to make a fisting joke but actually I punched a tree...” Shaw raises an eyebrow at her while delicately turning Root’s hand over and inspecting the dark patches of bruising pooled between her fingers, “Control kicked me off the Rylatech project. I have to start a new thesis, and something really fucked up is going on.” 

“Well, that sucks a bag of dicks. And this is a boxer’s fractures, at least. You might have broken your metacarpus, I don’t think so though. But they won’t X-ray it ‘til the swelling is down anyway. Ice it, and take some ibuprofen.” Shaw starts wrapping the bandage around it again with competent twists, “don’t punch trees. That’s what BOB is for.”

“Bob?” Root flexes her hand a little and winces, wriggling to her feet.

“Body Opponent Bag,” Shaw jerks her head at the wardrobe and Root nods understanding.

“Ah, yeah. It wasn’t really thought through,” she admits, twisting her mouth to one side and feeling like a child getting caught doing something questionable. 

“And you’re usually so good at self control,” Shaw snarks, sliding her hand up Root’s arm slowly, eyes glued to her fingers, tan against Root’s pale skin and then she abruptly pulls away, “...I have to go or I will miss my class.” 

“Get out of here,” Root slides off the bed and stretches, grinning as Shaw’s eyes drift down her body, “I’ll pick you up after class at the lab and we can get Mexican?” She offers, and Shaw grins, licking her lips.

“Takeaway Mexican. I only have one class today and we will have... eight hours until we have to be at Zoe’s birthday party.” 

“It’s Zoe’s birthday?” Root groans, and pokes Shaw in the stomach with sharp fingers, making her jump in surprise, “this is why no one thinks we have conversations.” 

“If you had facebook like a normal human you would know that,” Shaw tenses her muscles against Root’s hand which has somehow started exploring her cotton-covered stomach.

“As much as spending my free time answering millions of quizzes about what flavour of icecream I would be sounds like a fascinating exploration of my psyche, there is literally no purpose to having facebook besides stalking people. And I can stalk without having my own account,” Root slides her thumb under the hem of Shaw’s shirt and she shivers at the slight skin-on-skin contact.

“Did you stalk me?” Shaw asks with interest, reluctantly pulling away from Root’s hand with an unconscious nip of her lower lip that leaves Root staring at her mouth. 

“I looked you up. You didn’t have anything public and I didn’t wanna invade your privacy,” Root looks up at her eyes, wanting Shaw to see she’s sincere, and Shaw nods, apparently pleased with the answer.

“I mostly just post pictures of Bear, but thanks. Okay, I am definitely going to be late. Meet me outside bio at 12?” 

She’s already on her way out the door as she finished her sentence, and Root calls, “yep!” as Shaw thunders down the stairs.

***

Root grabs takeaway from the on campus Mexican place on her way to the Biology building, and leans against a metal handrail on the stairs while she waits for Shaw to appear.

The gaggles of students push past her, chattering loudly, and then Shaw appears at the back of the crowd, talking to a guy Root thinks must be Cole, her lab partner. 

She waits for Shaw to spot her, and then pushes off from the rail and waits for them to get to the bottom of the steps. 

“Hey,” Shaw grins, peering into the bag, “did you get extra guac?” 

“No, because I’ve never met you,” Root deadpans, nodding at the guy.

“Hey, you must be Root. I’m Cole,” he sticks his hand out and she shakes it briefly. He seems like a nice enough guy, but she has no interest in him inviting himself for lunch or anything. 

He must get the impression she wants cause he shoulder checks Shaw gently, “I’ll send you those notes,” before nodding at Root, still friendly, and mooching down the path. 

“C’mon, I’m starving,” Shaw grumbles, tugging Root’s arm until she starts walking in the direction of the Casa, swinging the bag in one hand.

It’s a pretty decent day, a nice Spring feel in the air and a few flowers spangling the edges of the paths where they haven’t been crushed by the uncaring feet of hurrying students. 

“So how was camp, besides exhausting?” Root inquires, looking down at Shaw strolling beside her with her hands shoved in her hoodie pockets. 

Shaw nudges her shoulder against Root’s upper arm, “sweaty. It was mostly zillions of drills, gym stuff, and feeling like a lab rat while they poked and prodded us. I about had a heart attack when they started talking about drug tests but it turns out they were looking for performance enhancers. Fucking Seattle makes me forget other people care about pot. We played a game every day, I was good, I think. I guess I’ll find out.” 

Root is sure there are a million anecdotes that Shaw could tell her, and she probably will, in her own time as they become relevant, so she just nods, “Viva Cascadia. Sounds like it was pretty intense.”

“Sounds like you had your own intense stuff...” Shaw looks up at her with a faint crease between her brows, “why didn’t you tell me about your project yesterday?”

Root shrugs, hiding a grin at how cute Shaw looks when she’s all bothered about stuff that could definitely be described as ‘relationshippy’, “you were busy, nothing you could do anyway. No asses to kick.” 

They turn down the path towards the Casa, off the main drive. Shaw frowns, hunching her shoulders a little, and Root raises an eyebrow in question. Shaw holds her silence for a few more steps and then huffs, “you can just tell me stuff so I know what’s going on with you.”

Root thinks she hears an unspoken point that Shaw is good for more than kicking asses and she bumps their shoulders together, “I was always gonna tell you as soon as you got back. I didn’t want to distract you, is all.” 

Shaw relaxes minutely, “good. Tell me now, then.”

“Not a great deal to tell, at this point. You know there’s been some funky stuff that doesn’t add up the whole time I’ve been going through their data. They hired me to redesign their whole system, essentially, but there are weird gaps in their structures that don’t make sense, and data that doesn’t go anywhere, and data that was coming in from somewhere else... and anyway, there were a lot of weird little things that added up to something really, really weird. So I started looking more closely, and found a bunch more stuff that shouldn’t have been there, and then that stuff kept disappearing. When I took what I had to Control and Rylatech, they bounced me off the project. So now... I have to ‘use what I have learned’ and put together a new project in three months. And I still don’t know what the fuck was going on with their systems.”

“You’re really pissed, hey?” Shaw looks up at her, squinting against the bright sunlight.

Root nods, feeling the tension in her body, “yeah. Yeah I am.”

 

“You gonna let it go?” Shaw asks seriously, taking her hand out of her pocket and swinging it beside her so their sleeves brush every few paces.

“...I don’t think so.” Root licks her lips, scrapes her hair behind her ear, “I don’t do well letting things go.”

“I’ve noticed,” Shaw quips, “sometimes you keep me all tied up for hours,” the joke lightens the mood, as Shaw probably intended, and Root manages a grin.

“Talking of which, how many hours do we have ‘til Zoe’s birthday thing? I managed to scrape together a present while you were in bio.”

“We'll probably start pre-gaming at eight or something, and then she was talking about a strip club but I think she was joking, because while I’m sure feminist strip clubs exist I doubt there’s one we can get to easily on a Monday night.” Shaw fumbles for her keys and unlocks the door, kicking her shoes off at the bottom of the stairs and heading for the kitchen. 

Root follows suit, and they dish up their burritos, taking them upstairs and clicking on an episode of Buffy while they eat. Shaw scarfs hers down in half the time it takes Root to do the same and takes the opportunity to fill Root in on how she was essentially sharing a room with Eliza Dushku.

After eating, they do a little making out, but both of them are clearly exhausted and it doesn’t take them long to decide they should nap first before saying welcome home properly. Shaw sets an alarm and they strip and snuggle down, Shaw’s fingers hooked over Root’s naked hip.


	13. Welcome Bone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I am on a roll with my terrible pun titles.
> 
> All smut except for like twenty lines at the end, marked with a rule. 
> 
> **content warning** vanillaish smut, voice kink, praise kink, mild domination

Shaw wakes up to a soft hand running over her torso and she hums happily and arches into it, rolling over and sliding her leg between Root’s, reaching up for her mouth. 

Root tastes like sleep and faintly of burrito, but not in a bad way. She’s doing the thing where she’s nudging her face into Shaw’s, pushing with her nose, like she isn’t quite awake enough to kiss properly, it makes Shaw smile into her mouth. They're slow and languid, Shaw pressed up against Root’s thigh with her knee wedged against Root’s centre. 

They rock against each other, waking up, lazy and unhurried, and then the alarm starts blaring, making Shaw jump. Root groans, pressing her mouth against Shaw’s shoulder blade when she rolls over to turn the alarm off, and then handily climbing on top of her so Shaw face plants into the mattress, grinning. 

Root hums, noses her way under Shaw’s hair and bites her neck in a way that makes Shaw gasp, heat rushing through her as she goes limp and quiescent automatically, leaning her head to expose herself for Root’s attention. 

And the attention feels good, Shaw’s glad they have time for this, now. The alarm was set for four, a large nap, to be sure, but they both needed it, Shaw thinks as she stretches a little, bending one leg so Root ends up straddling the back of the other, warm thigh pushing against her center. She feels much better for the sleep, and Root certainly seems to be in an excellent mood, judging from the pleased little noises she’s making as she grinds her hips into Shaw’s. 

It feels good, being pushed into the mattress by Root’s body, Root riding her thigh and making breathy sounds as she slides her hand down Shaw’s arm and grabs her wrist, partly restraining and partly leveraging her thrusts, but not violent, just confident and a little demanding. She leans her forearm on Shaw’s other arm, keeping her weight off her bandaged hand.

Shaw groans deeps in her throat as Root makes especially good contact, and she cocks her hips, pulling her bent leg up even further to try and give Root better access. Root hums and wriggles down a little, sliding her good hand between their bodies and cupping Shaw from behind. 

The touch of Root’s fingers sends shivers bolting through Shaw’s body and she bites her lip, her free hand clenching in the pillow next to her head.

Root strokes her gently, dragging her fingertips everywhere except where Shaw’s body is crying out for contact, soft touches against her inner thighs and the curve of her ass, trailing just either side of her pussy, down the tender skin but never slipping against her slick center. 

Shaw makes a desperate sounding whine that vaguely embarrasses her, makes her press her face to the pillow, and Root’s voice is suddenly warm and honeyed in her ear, “don’t hide from me, Sameen, let me see you,” and Shaw flushes with heat, grinds her hips against the mattress at the sound of her voice, turning her head so she’s facing sideways, Root hovering over her.

Root’s eyes are blown wide, the irises almost eclipsed by her pupils, and she has a pink flush in her cheeks. As they make eye contact, Root moves her hand, slides her fingers between Shaw’s folds and Shaw sees her eyelids flutter even as her own close in pleasure.

“Look at me,” Root murmurs, teasing fingers against her entrance and Shaw forces herself to open her eyes, feeling naked and exposed with the intimate eye contact. 

Two fingers push into her achingly slowly when Shaw obeys, Root bites her own lip, sharp white teeth pushing a red line into the soft flesh and Shaw’s eyes flick down, then up to meet Root’s again.

“Do you know how gorgeous you are? So obedient. Fuck, it turns me on so much when you give it up for me, baby,” Root purrs, still watching her as she fucks her, movements firm and certain but unhurried. Shaw can feel how true her words are from the slick patch growing on the back of her leg as Root thrusts against her, idly chasing her own pleasure while she pushes Shaw towards hers, slow but demanding. She scissors her fingers, stretching her out, and Shaw grinds down into the mattress, a moan catching in her throat. Root watches her, a fascinated expression on her face as she pushes down against Shaw’s gspot, stroking in and out rhythmically, guiding her up and up.

Shaw's breath is coming in little moans by the time Root starts planting wet kisses across the top of her back, wedges her toes under Shaw’s calf and speeds up. Her hips match the movement of her fingers inside Shaw, her thumb just barely brushes against Shaw’s clit every few strokes, and the sensations leave Shaw strung out and gasping, needily cocking her hips into Root’s hand.

When Shaw comes, it’s a breaking wave, building and building slowly before crashing relentlessly over her, making her cry out as her muscles spasm and grip at Root’s fingers. Root gentles her through it with soft touches, pulls out slowly in favour of smoothing Shaw's hair off her face, touching her shoulder and arm in purposeless, damp-fingered patterns until Shaw stops shuddering and inhales, squirming away from Root’s body in favour of a little space.

Root lets her wriggle out of the cage of her body, props herself up on one hand and drags her eyes down Shaw’s body, gaze hot and eager. 

It lights Shaw back up, the way Root looks at her and she rolls over, colliding, pressing Root back into the mattress and hovering over her. Root allows it, moves with her and plants her good hand firmly on Shaw’s ass when she settles, “what now?” there’s a grin in her voice, and Shaw leans down to kiss it off her lips.

Their mouths slide together easily, fitting. Shaw sucks on Root’s lower lip, traps it with her tongue and laves it, making Root shudder under her and open her legs. Shaw slots between them, feeling Root’s wet heat pressed up against her belly, tensing as Root arches up, bending her legs and digging her fingers into Shaw’s ass hard enough that there’ll be little scrapes left behind them. 

She groans, it sounds like Shaw’s name, and Shaw hums happily, grinding her stomach down into Root and swallowing the noises she makes as they rock against each other.

Eventually, Root tugs her hair gently and she wriggles down, leaving a trail of wet kisses in her wake before settling on her stomach between Root’s legs, watching her lover as she leans down to lap at her wetness.

Root’s flushed and spread out, her chest heaving. She wraps one hand into Shaw’s hair but doesn’t pull, letting Shaw set the pace for once, and Shaw chooses to go slowly. 

She chases the taste of Root around, exploring as much as possible with her lips and tongue. Root grinds and twists on the sheets, but still doesn’t yank, and Shaw takes her time, mapping out every soft curve and furrow. 

When she closes her mouth over Root’s entrance, sucks gently, pulling the lips into her mouth and pushing her tongue between them, it takes her totally by surprise when Root comes, inner muscles clenching down and her hand tightening in Shaw’s hair to hold her there as she groans and curls forwards. Shaw’s barely even touched her clit, and she feels the warm glow of pride and contentment filling her. 

Root slackens her grip, but doesn’t pull her away, and Shaw delicately laps at her, moving up to her clit only when Root’s hips start lifting up towards her mouth again. She pushes into the sensitive flesh, sucks on it and rubs her tongue in flat circles until Root tenses for long, drawn out moments and then shudders with a quiet cry, her body folding around Shaw as she comes again, a prolonged fit of wildly fluttering muscles and breathless moans. 

Shaw feels exceedingly pleased with herself as she pulls back when Root collapses onto the bed again, and she sits up, swiping her hand across her mouth.

* * *

Root’s still breathing heavily, and Shaw wriggles up the bed, leaning against the pillow and watching her lover’s face as she recovers, seeing the way her lower lip trembles slightly on her exhale, running her eyes over the proud arch of Root’s eyebrow and the clean, curving line of her jaw. Root has a nice face, she already knew that, but she’s suddenly struck with the urge to capture her like this; loose-limbed and heavy with pleasure, fading flush of pink shading the soft skin of her chest and the pearlescent shimmer of come on her inner thighs. 

“What?” Root mumbles, “I can feel you looking at me,” she flaps a hand out like she’s trying to figure out where Shaw is, and Shaw catches it, setting it on her knee.

“I wanna draw you,” the words are out before she’s really planned to say them, but Root’s eyes are closed and her hand is warm as Shaw drags fingertips down her palm. 

“Do I have to move?” Root sounds a little slap-happy, and Shaw grins, she can feel it tugging on the corners of her mouth.

“It’s better if you don’t,” mind made up, she slides out of bed and pads, naked, to the table, grabbing a couple of pencils and a set of chalks before hauling her sketchbook out from the pile of shit it’s buried in. 

Obligingly, Root doesn’t stir, and Shaw grabs her desk chair, moving it over until she’s got a good angle and can rest her feet on the bed so she can lean on her knees.

“This doesn’t mean you get to see,” she mumbles, already dragging light lines down the page, marking out the dip and curve of Root’s side where she’s turned a little on the mattress.

“Mmm, I’m asleep,” Root mumbles, without opening her eyes, but there’s a smile dancing around her lips and Shaw reaches out to wedge her toe under Root’s thigh without thinking about it before losing herself in the shapes and lines on her page.


	14. You Smell Like Jockstrap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **content warning** dorks, gay jokes, jizz jokes, sex positive humans, semi-oblique references to blowjobs, shameless theft of tumblr jokes.

“I’m done.” 

Root rolls over, looking up at Shaw in her chair, and a soft, lazy grin spreads over her face. 

“Is it good?” She mumbles, stretching and arching her back, watching Shaw’s eyes trail down her body. 

“It’s fine,” Shaw has a half grin on her face, but doesn’t show Root the drawing, and Root doesn’t ask to see. 

“Damn fine, I bet, with this for a model,” she skids her palm down her ribcage and pushes on her hipbone gently, “I should shower, what’s the time, artiste?”

“Almost six,” Shaw cracks her neck and stands, the closed sketchpad gets chucked on the wooden desktop and Shaw offers Root her hand. 

Root lets herself be tugged upwards, yawning when she is on her feet, “shower, yes.”

Shaw smirks, leaning in and taking an exaggerated whiff at Root, “yep, you smell like come and nerd, just as I suspected.”

“Hey!” Root protests, ducking away from her and grabbing a robe off the back of the door and pulling it on, “you smell like jock... jockstrap,” she snickers, opening the door. Zoe is stood right outside with her hand up to knock, and she cracks up laughing.

“Why does Shaw smell like jockstrap? I don’t even... oh, and you’re naked, hi, naked Shaw.” Zoe leans around Root to get a better look, and Shaw laces her fingers behind her head, unashamed.

“Are you gonna start checking me out in the locker room now?” She queries, raising an eyebrow, and Root rolls her eyes, heading for the bathroom. 

Before she closes the door behind her she hears, “no, cause locker room rules, obviously. But it’s my birthday and you’re naked, so... I feel like looking is fine in this context.” 

Root is smirking to herself as she unwraps her bandage and hops in the shower, taking a luxuriously long time and washing her hair somewhat awkwardly with one hand. When she gets back to the room, Shaw has boxers and a tanktop on and Zoe is sat on the end of the bed, gesticulating wildly.

“..And honestly, I didn’t even know what to do, I mean, it was _huge_ ,” Zoe finishes dramatically.

“...I don’t want to know,” Root plops down on the bed, propping her feet on Zoe’s lap, “happy birthday, by the way.” 

She offers her hand and the unwrapped bandage to Shaw who starts wrapping her back up with a snort, “it was a hornet, Root, not a dick, don’t panic,” she glances at Zoe, “honestly, you tell her one story about what sperm does in the bath and she thinks it’s all you talk about.”

“You also told me that eyeball jizz thing which was _extremely_ disturbing and makes me highly grateful that even back in my more experimental teen years I was not an ‘on my knees’ sort of person,” Root complains, finger combing her hair while Shaw competently safety pins the bandage on her other hand. 

“No, that’s fair, I talk about dicks a lot. But it is my birthday, which means I am the birthday queen, and you must talk about whatever I want to! Also, what happened to your hand?” Zoe declares, throwing her arms out.

“Fisting,” Root snickers, Zoe rolls her eyes.

Shaw slides off the bed and heads into the corridor, “I’m showering, try not to scar Root for life or terrify her with your perviness, Zo.”

Zoe raises a sharp eyebrow at Root and Root flaps a hand, “perv away, and also, I don’t give a fuck if you wanna talk about dicks, but honestly I’m not going to be a shining addition to the conversation unless we’re talking silicone in which case I have a vast, some might say encyclopedic, knowledge base. And I actually punched a tree, it was stupid, I’m over it.” 

Zoe cracks up, worms her way around on to her front and props herself up on her hands, “well, actually I mostly just came by to see if you guys wanted to come watch Resident Evil and play the Resident Evil drinking game in order to make sure we are appropriately birthday smashed.”

“Who let you have a birthday on a Monday? I have class at eleven tomorrow!” Root wiggles her toes, which Zoe pats idly, tugging on her pinky toe.

“My birthday was actually on _Saturday_ , but stupid grumpy pants had to go and be really good at sport and so I postponed, primarily because Shaw would never forgive me if I did Resident Drunk without her, and also because I have this amazing new drinking game she is going to be terrible at and I am excited.” It’s all one, enormous run on, and Zoe takes a deep breath at the end.

“Resident Drunk sounds ridiculous, as does your amazing new game. I am now excited too,” Root grins, scratching her belly idly through the robe, “can I wear pajamas to your party or is it a clothing type event?”

“Well, it’s just us lot, so Shaw will almost certainly be sporting her classic ‘I don’t give a fuck about underwear’ look. I already went out on Saturday night with my course people, and also, a man friend.” She waggles her eyebrows at Root and Root lifts her hand for a high five.

“Nice! Dry spell officially over?” 

Zoe slaps her hand, “maybe! I mean, it was self imposed, but that is definitely the longest I have gone since I was like sixteen and discovered the joys of sexy fun times. But I am still teetering on the brink of a gay crisis, so who knows, who knows? But at least I know it all still works,” she snickers.

Root looks across as the door opens, and Shaw wanders in with a towel wrapped around her, her hair wet enough to be dripping, “Zoe wants to play Resident Drunk.”

“Sounds good,” Shaw drops her towel, clearly without thinking about it, and then makes to pick it up, then aborts the movement, hovering awkwardly “should I try not to be naked in front of you now?” She asks Zoe, whilst naked, “is that weird?”

“Is it weird when I’m naked in front of you?” Zoe asks, sounding genuinely interested, and Root snorts.

“You guys are ridiculous, Shaw, put some clothes on. Zoe... I don’t even know. Decide how gay you are so we can act accordingly,” she jokes, glad that nobody seems tense or agitated. So far the potential threeway discussions have been very chill, and Root is extremely pleased about that.

“Like, twenty five percent, maybe,” Zoe grins, and Shaw bends down to open a drawer, and Zoe looks away rapidly, scanning the room and landing on the window which she stares at determinedly, “okay, thirty. Thirty percent gay.”

Shaw laughs, grabbing some boxers and pulling them on before rummaging for a tshirt, “trisexual. You’ll try anything once, more like. You can perv on me if that’s not weird for you, I don’t give a fuck, and you know I’ll tell you if it ever does bother me.”

Root is highly amused when Shaw turns around to see that she’s wearing Batman boxers and a tshirt that says ‘say hey if you’re gay’, “hey,” she smirks, “what’s thirty percent of hey, Zoe?”

Zoe laughs too, sliding off the bed and padding into the hallway, “Hhhh. And on that note, I’m gonna go set up Resident Drunk.”

“Alright, we’ll be down in a minute,” Root calls after her.

Resident Drunk turns out to be spectacularly difficult, as Zoe insists they drink every time they see the Umbrella logo, every time anyone says zombie, and every time they hear ‘my name is Alice’ they have to finish their drinks. Root is thoroughly, delightfully smashed by the time the movie is over.


	15. DON'T GET ME STARTED

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning** is at the end to avoid spoilering the drinking game. Click 'more notes' to check in. No smut. Some kissing. 
> 
> I'm gonna warn for discussion of sperm so Steph doesn't have a heart attack. DISCUSSION OF HOW GROSS SPERM IS, STEPH. Prepare yourself accordingly.

“Would you like to play a game?” Zoe rubs her hands together and Root giggles, sliding off the sofa onto the floor. She ends up next to Shaw who has spent the movie on a pile of pillows from her bed, wrapped in a duvet like some sort of cozy monster, with Bear's head on her duvet wrapped knee. Shaw pokes Root in the side and wriggles over to make room, while John pounds his beer and does an enormous, reverberating burp.

“I think that was a resounding yes,” Finch grins, leaning back in his chair with one hand in John’s hair, petting him gently and holding a beer in his other hand. 

“I am so excited, you guys! This is going to be a clusterfuck!” Zoe sounds positively gleeful.

She organises everyone into a circle, making Harold drag his chair over and John sit on the floor next to him. Root and Shaw stay leaning against the sofa while Joss and Zoe sit opposite each other and fill in the sides.

“Okay, so you all know I am the reigning champion of ‘don’t get me started’, obviously. But last week I was introduced to an equally amazing game that our British friends apparently play, called ‘no HDR’, which stands for ‘no hesitation, deviation or repetition’. The aim of said game is to talk about a topic for a minute without deviating from the subject, saying um or anything like that, or repeating a point. The best part is, everyone else has to drink for EVERY point you make! So I have invented a mashup of these two games, where you have to yell angrily about a topic without hesitating, repeating or deviating and everyone else drinks for every point and you keep going until the minute is up. So the only time you get to stop drinking is when you’re the one yelling. We’re all going to die, it’s going to be fantastic.”

Shaw groans, and puts her head in her hands, “I’m so bad at these games,” she complains.

Root snickers, nudging her, “but you love yelling about stuff you hate.”

“You don’t get to yell about stuff you actually hate, it’s always like... boobs, and you have to make up problems with them, and it’s terrible. Once Zoe made me bitch about BDSM and it was the worst,” Shaw pouts a little, shuffling in her duvet and taking a mouthful of beer before putting it down so she can play with Bear's ears.

“Okay, in deference to complainy-complainerson here, we can yell about stuff we don’t like. I’m going first, give me a topic. Get ready to chug!” 

“I need a new beer,” John gets to his feet, holding his empty bottle, “anyone else?” 

“You should probably grab a couple of six packs,” Joss licks her lips, shifting, “because clearly we are about to drink until we all vomit.”

“It’s my birthday and I’ll throw up if I want to,” Zoe sings.

John brings back two six packs and an opener, and Harold sets up a stopwatch on his phone. 

Joss settles down on her side, lifting her beer up and pointing it at Zoe, “awful men. You hate awful men.” 

“Yesss,” Zoe wriggles in excitement and waves around the circle, “get ready to die of how many horrible things there are to say about awful men.”

“Wait, what do we do if we can’t think of anything?” John looks faintly panicked.

“You have to down your whole beer in the minute that is allotted to you, same if you run out of stuff to say” Zoe declares, clearly thrilled, “but obviously take tiny sips the rest of the time or else you’re just gonna be chugging like four beers every round and the party will be over before it has even begun.”

“Oh, it’s begun,” Root looks at the empty pile of bottles to her left, “we’re all like five beers deep, Zoe. I am smashed.”

“In two hours, you lightweight,” Shaw teases, poking Root in the knee, “alright, Zoe, let’s hear it.”

“The beer’s less than three percent,” Joss inspects the bottle she’s holding, “but tiny hamster sips it is.”

“Right! Don’t get me started on awful men! They are literally so awful I want to punch all of them all of the time in their awful faces, with their stupid smugs grins and their ridiculous penises, they’re always like ‘hey baby, I have this ridiculous penis, you can probably barely concentrate on what I’m saying because you’re so busy thinking about my ridiculous penis’, you can’t even go to bar while owning a vagina without some awful man thinking it’s an invitation to not-so-subtly point their awful penises at you like you are some princess in a tower who has never even had a conversation with anyone before and you should be sooooo grateful that they have deigned to come and have a penis in your vicinity, and while not all men are awful of course the ones who ARE awful have to be so very, very awful that you have to be on the defensive all the time and also what the fuck is with the thing where awful men never want you to speak, they just want to yell about probably their awful penises, and the sending of DICK PICS? What the FUCK is that? Unrequested dick pics, I have a whole collection, I am planning on doing some sort of art project about awful men with them, like honestly I get that internet dating is a chance to live a little more wildly than you otherwise would but who the fuck actually gets off on dick pics? I mean, I love dicks! I love them more than anyone else I know but they are ridiculous, no one needs to _see_ them without being like 'I am in the mood to look at some random strangers dick', which probably happens, personally I am always more in the mood to touch some random...” she trails off as the time goes and looks around excitedly, seeing how much beer people have drunk. Root drank about a third of her beer, Shaw is halfway down her bottle, but Joss, Harry and John are all about a quarter deep. 

Zoe claps her hands together and picks up her beer, pointing at Shaw, “you’re next! Anyone got a great topic for Shaw, she hates so many things...”

“Vegetables,” Root snickers, dangling her beer between two fingers.

“Knick-knacks,” Joss suggests at almost the same time.

“Sharing,” John adds with a raised eyebrow, and it surprises a laugh out of Root.

“She doesn’t always hate sharing, you just have to make sure she’s getting what she needs,” she deadpans, and Joss pulls a face.

“TMI, Root, TMI,”

“What, I meant pizza!” Root defends herself in an innocent voice and Shaw glowers all of them.

“I hate you guys. I could talk about how much I hate all of you.”

“Too much potential for being actually mean,” Zoe vetoes the idea, leaning against Harold’s chair, “what about the current awful trends in YA, love triangles, etc.”

“Yeah, okay.” Shaw wriggles into a more upright position and waves a hand at Harold, “don’t get me fucking started on the current state of young adult fiction, it is fucking disgusting, all fucking whitebread, square-jawed, well-meaning yet mildly awkward heroes and bland girls with zero personality passively caught up in events they are inevitably some sort of key figure in, but they never make any fucking decisions just wait until everything happens to them, and there’s always some other fucking boy who clearly isn’t actually romantic competition and has zero personality also and is only there to add some kind of intrigue to completely one dimensional storylines than I can predict with freakish accuracy before I’m twenty percent in. And there’s this fucking weird gaslighting trend where the ‘good guys’ lie to the hero and heroine to ‘protect them’ because they’re so young or whatever but it just makes everything much, much worse, and honestly I can’t even count all of the stories that could be solved with ten fucking minutes of communication leaving only the awkward weirdly asexual cis-het romance story I just don’t give a shit about, no offence to people who are actually ace, obviously, Harry, I mean the characters are not _supposed_ to be asexual, I would be a million percent behind actual ace characters, but they never actually fuck or even want to fuck, they’re just weirdly pure in this super bible-belty ‘we shall kiss once probably and then get married’ way and honestly it’s like these people have never even MET a teenager, let alone been... Oh.” The timer interrupts her rant and she flashes a half grin at the circle, “I like this version. You get what I meant, right, Finch?” She asks a little awkwardly and Harold nods at her.

“I do indeed, no offence taken. I actually agree. And yes, it would be excellent if there were actually ace characters in books, rather than just people who seem to be adhering to the no sex before marriage mentality. Also, if someone would write a book with a character that could help people understand how I can possibly be in a relationship and also identify as gray ace, that would be very helpful.” He shuffles in his chair, winding his hand into John’s hair and tugging absently. 

“Agreed. Good job, Shaw, but this is not the time for liberal discussions about why everyone sucks, except explicitly in the sense of yelling about it. Root, you’re up,” Zoe warbles, grabbing a new beer out of the six pack in front of them all, “what does Root hate, Shaw. Besides penises.”

“I don’t hate penises. I have no emotions besides mild amusement towards penises,” Root protests, sitting up and rolling her shoulders.

“Root hates... idiots, people, idiotic people, stupid questions, repeating herself... it all mostly comes back to idiots if I’m honest,” Shaw snickers, “do you hate sperm, or just think it’s gross?”

“Eh, I probably hate sperm, fair. I also hate... Republicans, Donald Trump, Men’s Rights Activists, Racists... yeah, okay, all summarised under idiots, Shaw’s right.” 

“So, sperm or idiots?” Zoe muses, tapping her chin, “idiotic sperm, maybe? Let’s go sperm, I feel like ‘awful men’ covered a lot of the points you might otherwise make.”

“There’s no points to make about sperm!” Root complains, “it’s gross, but has a biological function, I just don’t know why people are so into spurting it everywhere, every time I accidentally...” Zoe gestures at Harold to turn the timer on and Root laughs, “okay, yeah, I guess I’ve started. Every time I accidentally see someone jizzing it's always fucking everywhere, like, really, is that necessary? I mean, I like seeing a girl all covered in her _own_ come as much as the next person, that’s extremely satisfying, like, good job me, well done, but honestly jizzing isn’t hard, you haven’t achieved anything that the majority of people with penises can’t do with very little effort, like, involving five minutes and a sock if I have my Straight Info accurate, so what’s with all the pearl-necklacing, and the throttling people with spunk? Unless they’re into that sort of thing of course in which case, extremely valid, but did you ask? Otherwise just fucking jizz in a condom or fuck in the shower so it doesn’t drip everywhere, why’s it always dripping everywhere? I don’t understand. Jizzing in people’s _eyes_ , eyes, Zoe, why? Why did you tell me that? I have nightmares about semen trying to impregnate my eyeballs and it is all your fault...” Root trails off, sees the timer still has fifteen seconds left and lifts her beer, swallowing smoothly until the timer beeps and then making a sad face, “that’s more than I ever wanted to think about sperm.” 

Shaw wriggles over, dislodging Bear who huffs and pads off to his bed in the kitchen. Shaw hooks her fingers around the curve of Root's jaw, pulling her around for a beer-flavoured kiss and not letting go until Root’s breathing hitches, then releasing her with a final lick of her bottom lip, “better?” 

“Huh?” Root grins, leaning back against the sofa and cracking her neck, “if by better you mean ‘distracted’ then yes.” 

“Well, I am certainly not thinking about sperm now,” Zoe snickers, putting her hands up under her chin and batting her lashes at Root and Shaw, “feel free to continue. No? Okay, fine. Joss, you’re up, suggestions anyone?” 

“Joss hates... a lot of really serious stuff, like inequality and bullying, but do you know what else she hates. Pickles.” Shaw looks smug

“Pickkklessss!” Zoe sounds thrilled with this suggestion and waves at Harold, “ready?”

Joss panics for a minute, and then flaps her hand, “okay!” She takes a deep breath, “don’t get me started on _pickles_ , those lousy, slimy, sneaky little pieces of cucumber soaked in pure evil, hiding out on my burgers and in my sandwiches, ruining everything with their pickley juice and foul scent. Who decided pickles should just BE in stuff as default? Has society actually fallen so far that we are in a place where more people like pickles than don’t? Once I was at a conference and the _only_ sandwiches available were ham and _pickle_! Besides the question of what vegetarians were supposed to eat, what about those of us who would prefer our bread not to be soaked in disgusting pickle juices, I hate them, I hate them, I can’t do this anymore,” she lifts up her beer and has to down it for the remaining twenty eight seconds on the clock, finishing her bottle and starting a new one before the timer pings. She gasps for air when she’s done, “”uh, turns out while my feelings are strong, my ranting skills were low.”

Root pets her shoulder sympathetically, “we’re drunker than they were, and our topics were way harder.

“What should I angrily yell about?”Harold shifts on his chair, reaching for a new beer which John grabs for him.

“Food near your computer,” Zoe says immediately, “I feel like it would do you good to get it off your chest,” she grins at him, “and I’m the only one who doesn’t torment you with that so it will be extra delightful for me.”

“Okay.” Harold passes the timer to John who takes it carefully, looking over his shoulder and nodding for Harold to start, “don’t get me started on you heathens eating food, especially wet and or drippy food anywhere near any kind of technology but _especially_ my computers, it’s like you were raised by wolves in the wilderness, lacking any basic social skills or decorum, it’s ridiculous. Just move away from the technology, don’t leave your teetering takeaway cartons balanced _on_ my laptop, I don’t care how drunk you were there is no way you believed it was an oversized coaster, Shaw, you may not know what a placemat is but you definitely can recognise a laptop, and you knew I would be furious so you lied about it, and I understand I could just move the laptops to my room, but you know what? This is my house too, and I don’t complain OR spill food over your ridiculous sports equipment that is always everywhere taking up the majority of our entire house, kitbags and shoes and muddy shinpads...” he is cut off but Zoe raising a hand and making a buzzing noise.

“Deviation, son! Finish your beer!” 

“What?” Harold protests, “I was making a comparative point!”

“Who’s birthday is it, Finch?” Zoe raises an eyebrow, gesturing at him, and he sighs, lifting his beer up and chugging it. Sadly it was relatively full, and it takes him a minute to get it down. 

When he’s done, he burps, and leans over, kissing John’s head before whispering, “avenge me,” in a dramatic voice. 

Joss grabs a new beer for herself and points at John, “gangsters holding their guns sideways,” with a smirk.

“Yesss,” Zoe hisses, as John passes the timer back to Harold, and takes a deep breath.

“Don’t get me started on gangsters who hold their guns sideways in movies, you can’t aim like that at all, so you’ve already given yourself a disadvantage, and the shell casing is just going to eject right into your face, it also looks just totally ridiculous like you have no idea what you are doing, how are you supposed to take someone seriously if they are holding their gun like a twelve year old who’s seen too many gangster movies and thinks they are cool. It’s irresponsible, you could hit something you really didn’t intend to, it devalues all aspects of weapons safety, changing your clip is a fucking nightmare, I’m sure, like how are you supposed to smoothly pop the magazine? I guess maybe if you had two magazines monkeyfucked together so you could flip it it would work, I’d have to try to know for sure, but I doubt it, you need gravity for that speed, gravity! And gravity does NOT work sideways, but you know what does work sideways? Recoil, try holding your hand like that and jerking it back, the recoil could seriously hurt you if you were using a heavy calibre like a desert eagle or something, you would literally hit yourself in the face if you really fucked up...” the timer pings and John looks very pleased with himself. “I spanked you all, that was like twenty points.”

Most of the group did have to change beers midway through John’s excellent rant, and Shaw salutes him with her half empty bottle, “yeah, that was some good ranting, John,” she burps, and grins, “are we going again?” 

Root smirks at her a little, quite inebriated and lifts her eyebrows suggestively, Shaw rolls her eyes.

“Damn queer we are, Shaw, damn queer.” Zoe announces, “gimme something to yell about!” She sings to the tune of 'so give me something to sing about' from the Buffy musical, making Shaw roll her eyes even more dramatically in response.

The second round is a disaster, no one manages to finish their rant, although Shaw comes close with an epic dismantling of Fifty Shades of Gray, but forgets what point she was making and trails off, prompting Zoe to veto her out. Root gets maybe five points in about facebook, Joss fails miserable yelling about Carrot top, Harold does pretty well with the political system, Zoe barely makes two points about Glee before tapping out, and John doesn’t even try, just downs his whole drink instead. They’re a drunken mess when Joss scrapes herself off the floor, announcing she has class at nine, and the boys stumble off in the direction of their room as well.

Zoe sprawls sideways, throwing herself over Shaw’s lap and looking up at her even as Shaw makes an exasperated face, “you know what I’m thinking?”

Shaw looks down at her, and narrows her eyes, then squirms out from under her and wriggles onto the couch in an elaborate, drunken maneuver that almost lands her on the floor again, “I’m pretty sure you’re thinking ‘birthday threeway’, having seen you throw yourself at many a human in the past. I know what your ‘come hither’ face looks like,” she snickers, leaning back and putting her hands behind her head, “although you might also be thinking about the Olympics.” 

Root frowns, hauling herself upright and waving between the three of them, her words quite slurred, “we can’t have a birthday threeway, we’re wasted. You got me way too drunk to fuck you. I decline. And your consent would be dubious at best!” 

Zoe laughs, “naw, I know, and honestly I dunno if I can stand up, anyway, let alone fuck. But I was thinking about making out with you, so you’re a third right. Or quarter, or something. Math. Not my strongest suit.”

Root waves a hand at Shaw, “if you wanna make out, don’t let me stop you, happy birthday, Zoe.” 

“Is this a gay experiment?” Shaw asks with mild interest, picking at the label of her beer.

“Mostly I was just thinking about making out, and you’re here, and hot. I mean, in terms of who I have currently available, considering I am definitely too drunk to go and find someone else to make out with, I’m pretty much stuck with you guys. No pressure.” Zoe wriggles around on the floor, lying on her back with her feet on the couch and balancing her almost empty beer on her chest. 

Shaw glances at Root, who shrugs a shoulder and waves a lazy hand in the air. Shaw twists her mouth to one side in thought for a second, then slides off the sofa and stands over Zoe for a second, who looks up with pleased surprise on her face, before Shaw sits down straddling her hips, deliberately moves her beer out the way and leans over to kiss her. 

It’s drunk and messy, Root watches with interest, having only seen Shaw kiss one other person before. She’s taking the lead in this kiss, propping herself on one hand and winding the other into Zoe’s hair, holding her head up a little while they make out. 

There’s no doubt that it’s hot, but Root is currently far, far too drunk to do much about anything, and so she happily observes, eyes half lidded, her body heavy with alcohol. 

Zoe wraps her hands around Shaw’s hips, but doesn’t try to take things any further, and eventually Shaw sits back, breathing slightly elevated, “so, how gay are you now?” She tucks her hair behind her ear, and glances at Root like she’s checking in. Root winks at her, and Shaw rolls her eyes.

“Thirty five percent? I have no fucking idea, you guys,” Zoe stretches a little, pats Shaw on the thigh, “happy birthday to me. Okay, go fuck each other’s brains out while I lie in my bed of pain, I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Shaw half-grins at her and gets to her feet, holding her hand out for Root and tugging her upright, “night Zo, happy birthday.”

“Yeah, happy birthday, Zoe,” Root adds, poking her thigh with her toe in an affectionate gesture, “I’d lean down to hug you but I would one hundred percent fall over, so take this poking instead.”

“I’m pretty sure we established no poking this evening,” Zoe sighs, fake-put upon, “maybe I’ll go and poke myself.”

“Have fun!” Shaw tugs Root in the direction of the stairs, “And don’t worry about the clean up, I’ll do it tomorrow morning."

“Night!” Zoe calls after them, continuing to lay on the floor. 

They stumble up the stairs together, shuffling into Shaw's room, "are you too drunk to fuck me?" Shaw inquires, pulling her shirt off over her head with great difficulty.

"Eh, I could stick something inside you, but don't expect me to be graceful," Root grins, flopping down to wriggle her pants off.

"Works for me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They yell about: Awful men, trends in YA, pickles, sperm (this one is especially gross, sorry) eating near harry's computer, holding your gun sideways, (and briefly: fifty shades of gray, facebook, carrot top, the political system and Glee.)
> 
> No offence to anyone intended :)


	16. I Need Two Sets of Hands

Root drags herself out of bed in time for class, leaving Shaw stumbling towards the shower and complaining about med school essays. She barely manages to keep her eyes open through the python lab, but somehow finishes up the deliverable in an hour. 

On her way off campus, she texts Caleb.

12:13 ROOT @ CALEB // I need like four hundred favours. Can you meet me? //

12:25 CALEB @ ROOT // not that I’m keeping score but I definitely owe you at least five hundred. Where do you wanna meet? //

12:26 ROOT @ CALEB // downtown library, third floor pcs, an hour //

12:27 CALEB @ ROOT // on my way //

 

***

Her phone vibrates just before she steps inside the building, and she veers to one side.

{Zoe calling} She picks up.

“Root?” On the other end of the line, Zoe sounds cheerful and not at all hungover. The lingering headache in Root’s temples flares up like it’s mocking her.   


“Hey, what’s up?”

“Well, you know how last night I was gonna go and jerk off?”

“I seem to remember you mentioning something about that,” Root grins, “are you calling for tips?”

“Haha, I’m actually a very talented self-lover, I’ll have you know. Nah, I dropped that usb stick you gave me in my beer, can I get another copy? You have backups, right?” Zoe suddenly sounds a little concerned, like she thinks Root gave her her personal copy of porn and babe movies with no way to replace them.

“Of course I have backups. And I’ve given it to a couple of other people too, no worries, you waster.” Root rubs her temples with her free hand.

“You sound like you are feeling the burn, my friend. You okay? ... Uh, are we okay? Are you weird now cause I made out with Shaw?” 

That surprises a small laugh out of Root, “nah, you’re all good, we’re all good. I’m just hungover and preoccupied.”

“Alrighty then, please bring me more babes soon!” 

“Sure, I’ll see you later. Bye!” 

“Bye!” Zoe hangs up, and Root deletes her call history automatically before she sticks her phone in her overcoat pocket before heading for the doors to the library. As she’s going through the door a guy walks smack bang into her, almost knocking her over, and she swears under her breath as she recovers her balance. She needs coffee, and she still has a little time before Caleb should arrive, so she ducks into the library cafe before heading upstairs.

The library is fortunately quiet, and there aren’t many people bustling around the computer lab. She slings her coat over a chair and grabs the cheap netbook she purchased on her way, disabling the wifi and plugging in a usb before opening a text document, starting to type out what she needs Caleb to know, and what she needs him to do. She explains what she can about the Rylatech project in short sentences, and when Caleb arrives she turns the screen to him, not even returning his greeting.

He speed reads the text file, looking up with a shocked expression several times, and tapping the bolded note at the top **_‘don’t say anything, don’t know who’s listening’_** with a raised eyebrow. She grabs the netbook and types again, _‘yeah, I know. It’s seriously that fishy. Can you help me?’_

_ ‘you’re trying to backtrack something that might be a rudimentary AI?!’ _

_ ‘ _ Might  _ be. More likely it’s just some teenager with too much time on his hands. I mean, look at what we got up to, back in the day. And anyway it’s only so I can give it to the feds, yeah. I just need proof that something is accessing the GPS data from Rylatech.’ _

_ ‘Root... this is big. Really big. Are you sure you know what you’re mixed up in?’ _

_ ‘they mixed me up in it. They mixed Rylatech up in it, or Rylatech is something to do with it. But I need two sets of hands and you’re the fastest cracker I know. But I get it if this is too much to ask.’ _

_ ‘you saved my life, Root. There is no too much.’  _ Root looks at him, his face is tense and drawn and serious looking, but he nods. 

She knows that he means it, but she still feels guilty for asking. There’s no way that she can handle both sides of her plan though, and she knows Harold would say no, it’s too dangerous. But their research and efforts so far have been in vain, every trace of suspicious behaviour has been scrubbed from Rylatech’s systems. Root doesn’t know if they’re stonewalling her because they know what’s happening, or because they don’t want to admit that their systems are compromised, but she intends to find out. Just because she wasn’t anywhere near the weapons systems they run doesn’t mean the data-thief hasn’t been.

If this goes to plan, though, Caleb and Root will find the back door out of the Rylatech systems and into whatever has been parsing off data, manipulating it and sending it back with very specific alterations. 

Caleb watches her for a moment, and then deletes all the text they’ve typed, deletes the file, and runs a program to completely erase the data scraps left behind. 

Root promptly hands him a laptop and a screwdriver, followed by a package of RAM chips, before grabbing her own brand new laptop, flipping it over and switching out the 4 gigs of RAM that came with it for 8 gigs. Caleb swiftly does the same, rolling his eyes at her, and she shrugs. “I didn’t wanna spend four grand on stuff I was gonna dump right after,” she murmurs, judging it to be innocuous enough as a sentence. 

He shakes his head and taps his finger against the processor ID on the bottom and she pokes her tongue out at him, knowing he means she should have sprung for more processing power, but she is confident they have enough. 

Both of them boot the computers, plug into the libraries internet and Root cracks her neck from side to side as they pair their machines. They dive in at the same time, Caleb out in front gaining access while Root analyses and directs him where to go next. 

She’s sweating, she distantly realises, her hands racing over the keys and her heart pounding. She doesn’t know what they’re going to find, but her gut tells her nothing good. She’s taken all the precautions she can to disguise her actions, and she needs proof to get someone to pay attention to her findings. 

They work for hours without breaking, finding the pathways that the invader has taken in the past and pulling together scraps of data to try and create an image of what’s been happening. Root consistently photographs her screen with an old-school, film camera as they go, as she gathers information. She also auto saves onto a USB that she trades out every twenty minutes, with the intention of keeping those sticks away from anything with a wireless connection. Until eventually, they’ve been everywhere there is to go, and still haven’t found anything that could be remotely considered a smoking gun.

Caleb’s hand on her shoulder makes her jump, and he shakes his head at her, “that’s it, Root, without specialised equipment or being wired into their servers.” 

She nods at his words, pressing her fingertips against her eyelids, “yeah, I know. I know.” 

“You should go home, you look like you’re about to pass out.” He sounds worried, and it surprises a small grin out of her.

“Heavy night last night, not stress. I’m okay. But yeah, I could use a nap before going through all this, I guess,” she checks the time, “shit, it’s gone six already?”

Caleb shifts and stretches, “guess so. You need me to come back with you?”

“Naw, I’ll call you in the morning?” Root gets to her feet, shutting the laptop down swiftly and grimacing as her back twinges. 

“Please. I want to know what’s going on. As always,” he adds, pointedly.

Root wrinkles her nose, “yeah, I’ll keep you in the loop. If anything comes up you’ll be the first to know.” 

They say goodbye quickly and leave separately, Root so caught up in thought she doesn’t think to check her phone until she’s through her front door. She frowns when it’s not in her purse or jeans, and then remembers shoving it in her overcoat pocket when she was outside the library. 

She swears vehemently when it’s not there either, it’s probably fallen out on the floor of the library, but she doesn’t have the energy to go back and look for it. Before she can decide what to do, there’s a knock at the door.

A glance through the peephole reveals a short, older gentleman she doesn’t recognise, with an affable expression on his lined face. He raises a hand in a wave like he knows she’s looking.   
“Ms. Groves? It’s John, the building manager. May I come in?” 


	17. This Isn't Sexting

18:46 ROOT @ SHAW // Im going away 4 a few days //

18:49 SHAW @ ROOT // okay, weirdo. where are you going? //

20:56 SHAW @ ROOT // everything okay? //

21:25 SHAW @ ROOT // Root? //

22:13 SHAW @ ROOT // wtf Root, text me back // 

09:25 SHAW @ ROOT // not cool. Root. where are you? //

***

18:46 ROOT @ MORGAN // Im going away 4 a few days //

19:12 MORGAN @ ROOT // cool, anywhere fun? //

20:14 MORGAN @ ROOT // something happen? //

09:45 MORGAN @ ROOT // did Shaw do something? she’s stomping around like a crazy person. you guys fighting? I can punch her. she probably won’t hit me back. well probably not hard //

***

09:47 MORGAN @ SHAW // what did you do to Root? //

09:47 SHAW @ MORGAN // what? nothing! she’s being weird. is she talking to you? she told me she was going away and then never spoke to me again //

09:49 MORGAN @ SHAW // yeah she said that to me too //

09:49 MORGAN @ SHAW, JC // hey, joss boss, did Root say anything to you about going away? //

09:51 JC @ SHAW, MORGAN // yeah, she text me ‘Im going away 4 a few days’ //

09:53 SHAW @ MORGAN, JC // so you guys think that’s weird too? //

09:54 JC @ MORGAN, SHAW // since when does Root use text speak like ‘4’ instead of ‘four’ //

09:56 MORGAN @ JC, SHAW // alright, detective Carter. I dunno. I don’t think she does. that’s fucking weird. does anyone else have a weird feeling? I have a weird feeling //

10:06 SHAW @ JC, MORGAN // I just went through a bunch of texts she’s sent me and she never uses numbers. what the fuck is going on? //

10:06 JC @ MORGAN, SHAW // maybe something happened and she was in a hurry. Family emergency? //

10:07 SHAW @ MORGAN, JC // she would have told me. she tells me all sorts of shit. and she -always- texts back. she has a thing with notifications, remember //

10:09 MORGAN @ SHAW, JC // so what you’re saying is you DO have conversations sometimes //

10:11 SHAW @ MORGAN, JC // yes but shut up //

10:12 JC @ MORGAN, SHAW // so what are we saying here? We think someone else sent that message, and now Root’s not replying? //

10:13 SHAW @ MORGAN, JC // I’m going to her house //

10:14 MORGAN @ JC, SHAW // meet you there. address? //

10:14 SHAW @ MORGAN, JC // Tyler Court. Carpark. I’ll be there in 30 //

10:15 JC @ SHAW, MORGAN // omw //

***

10:16 SHAW @ DAIZO // hey, do you know what’s going on with Root? //

10:17 DAIZO @ SHAW // no, I think she’s going home for a bit? But we have a huge exam on Monday so it must be really important //

10:18 SHAW @ DAIZO // yeah, I guess. can you tell her to call me if she gets in touch with you? //

10:24 DAIZO @ SHAW // will do. Also I just checked and she hasn’t uploaded the stuff that is due today, 12 pm deadline //

10:26 SHAW @ DAIZO // I’ll let you know if I hear anything //

10:28 DAIZO @ SHAW // same, thanks. Maybe try Caleb or Romeo {contact attached}//

***

10: 30 SHAW @ CALEB // hi, have you heard from Root lately? this is shaw? //

10:31 CALEB @ SHAW // Shaw who? //

10:35 SHAW @ CALEB // Sameen Shaw. I'm Root's girlfriend //

10:36 SHAW @ CALEB // partner //

10:36 SHAW @ CALEB // urgh, look at this picture, tell me if you have heard from Root {attachment jpg 340811}

10:37 CALEB @ SHAW // I saw her yesterday afternoon, not since then though. She was supposed to call me, but I just got a weird text this morning. Have you been to her house? //

10:38 SHAW @ CALEB // we're going now //

10:39 CALEB @ SHAW // I'm on my way. Did you try Romeo? //

10:40 SHAW @ CALEB // who the fuck is this Romeo? do you have his number? //

10:41 CALEB @ SHAW // I don't. I'll try to IM him //


	18. Check Out My Drainpipe

Shaw scuffs her feet against the edge of the sidewalk, waiting impatiently for the others with her hands stuffed in her pocket. She’s been trying to figure out how they are going to get into Root’s building while she waits. She pressed the buzzer a half dozen times, but there was no response. 

A few minutes after she’s given up buzzing and started scoping out the drainpipe situation, Zoe sidles up behind her, “you okay?” 

“‘M fine, I just wanna know what’s going on.” Shaw grumbles, trying to ignore the hard, tight knot in her sternum that tells her she’s _not_ fine, that something is wrong.

“Probably nothing, Root probably just sent that text in a hurry and broke her phone or something.” Zoe has a note of encouragement in her voice but Shaw recognises it as the same one Zoe uses when she’s not sure, when she’s worried. 

Before she can respond, a floppy haired guy in a casual shirt-pants combo approaches them, “Hey, you’re Shaw, right? I recognise you from the picture.”

“Yeah. I’m Shaw. Caleb?” 

“What picture?” Zoe asks interestedly, “I’m Zoe, by the way.” 

“Root took some shitty selfie of us while I was asleep and set it as my phone lock screen, I can’t make it go away,” Shaw grouches, poking the ground with her toes, “I sent it to Caleb ‘cause he doesn’t know who I am.”

“Root’s not big on sharing,” he offers, cocking his head, “nice to meet you both, though I wish it was under less worrying circumstances. How much do you know about what Root’s been doing, uh, on the... less than legal side lately?”

“Not much,” Shaw admits, looking across the carpark as a door slams and Joss hops out of the driver’s seat, followed by John and Finch. They cross the gravel in long strides.

“I brought the boys,” Joss says, unnecessarily.

“Uh, okay.” Shaw swallows, nodding at the door, “this is Caleb, Root’s friend. And I’m accepting any ideas on how to get in.”

The boys introduce themselves, it turns out Harold knows Caleb through some nerd thing or the other, but Shaw is distracted by Zoe shoving her purse at Shaw and then running to the entrance just as a group of three boys exit. She can just about make out what Zoe’s saying.

“Ohmygod I’m so glad you’re here, I left my purse in Root’s apartment and she’s not answering, could I just, yeah, thanks,” she slides past the guys and the door slams behind her with a thud. 

Shaw snorts softly and waits, after the guys have pulled out, Zoe pads down the stairs and opens the door for them, waving them in, “people are so dumb, I’d be an amazing thief,” she pulls her shirt up and Shaw realises she’d yanked it down for extra cleavage effect while the guys were there.

Shaw marches up the stairs without waiting for the others, stomping to Root’s apartment and hammering violently on the door... which swings open under her first knock.

“Shit,” the last, tiny piece of her that had been holding on to this being a normal, everyday kind of situation gives up and she can’t bring herself to walk through the door until a warm hand lands on her shoulder and Joss squeezes past her. 

“We’ll figure it out.” 

Shaw follows her in, standing uselessly in the entrance way until Joss jerks her head at her from across the room, already poking around the living area, “go see if she packed a bag. Toothbrush, that kinda thing.”

“Wait!” Caleb slides in, Finch hot on his heels with Zoe and John behind them, “gimme all your phones.” 

Twisting her mouth to one side, Shaw slides her phone onto the countertop and heads for the bathroom, her body tense. It feels like there's a rock in her guts. She hears the front door close, and the sounds of talking behind her but she’s too focussed to listen to what they’re saying. She doesn’t stop to look at the bedroom, ducking into the ensuite immediately. 

Root’s purple toothbrush sits--in the silver holder clipped to the wall, with Shaw’s red one leaning against it--bristles to bristles, like they’re hugging. The sight hits her in the chest, and something slips inside her, making her clench her jaw and inhale deeply through her nose to try and suppress the swirling _stuff_ that keeps rising up her throat.

“Shaw,” Zoe’s voice is tentative from the doorway, and she turns.

Whatever Zoe sees in her face makes her wrinkle her nose in sympathy, “oh, Shaw. It’s gonna be okay,” she lifts her hand up like she’s gonna try and drag Shaw into a hug, and Shaw takes a half-step back automatically, Zoe drops her hand. “C’mon, we’re planning and Finch and his new nerd friend are hacking.”

“I should...” Shaw gestures in the direction of the bedroom, and Zoe nods.

“Okay, let’s do it,” she gestures for Shaw to go first, and when Shaw slides past her Zoe snakes her arms around her and gives her a quick squish before backing off, “sorry, sorry. I’m stressing too.” 

Shaw growls but heads into the bedroom proper, stepping over an abandoned harness on the floor and opening one of Root’s clothes drawers, trying to figure out if anything is missing.

“I know now is obviously not the time, but holy kinky, batman,” When Shaw looks over Zoe is pointing at the four sets of police issue cuffs, one dangling from each bedpost and Shaw finds herself rubbing her wrist absently before refocusing on the task. Zoe slips out of the bedroom door while she hunts.

As far as Shaw can tell nothing is missing, and she spends a few minutes tidying up the sexual debris before joining everyone in the living room. 

Joss has found a whiteboard somewhere and is writing stuff on it in red pen, Caleb and Finch are huddled together on the couch with computers on their laps, Shaw thinks the one Caleb has is actually Root’s, and she drops Root’s tablet with them before sitting down on a chair arm.

John is pacing, prowling even, looking more pent up that Shaw feels, and Zoe appears to be making tea, of all things. 

Caleb looks up at her, “so.. the camera circuits in the parking lot and the lobby were looped last night for a half hour at around seven P.M. Finch is trying to figure out if they got into the system directly or from a distance, and I’m going over everything Root’s been doing on her laptop for the past few days. We’ll figure out what happened.” 

Shaw feels her face twitch, she wants to hit something, and curl up in a ball and not speak to anyone every again, and drink the entire bottle of whisky that she can see out of the corner of her eye, and crawl into Root’s bed all at once. 

Caleb pushes his hair out of his eyes and reaches a hand out to pat her on the knee. She resists the immediate reaction to bend his wrist back and nods, “what can I do?” 

She looks around the room, desperate for someone to tell her what she can do that isn’t just sitting here, waiting. 

“Uh, guys?” She looks over, John is crouching on the kitchen floor, his fingers hovering just at the edge of the wooden kitchen table, the one with two holes in it for Shaw’s wrists. She’s in the kitchen before she’s realised she’s moving.

“What?” 

John points, his hand steady. There’s a smear of reddish brown on the very corner of the table and then he points at the floor, “blood?”

When Shaw looks closer, spatters of red freckle the ground like stars. 

Her exhale is more of a pained noise than anything else, and then Zoe is behind her, a hand on her back providing a warm, familiar spot that stops Shaw from feeling like her chest is collapsing.

“Could that be yours, Shaw?” She asks in a low voice, and Shaw shakes her head, unable to find words. She’s never bled in the kitchen.

“Might just be a kitchen accident,” John points out calmly, “it’s not very much, either way, I’m sure she’s fine.” 

“What if she’s....” dead. Shaw can’t say the word, can’t even make the first syllable form in her mouth, it’s suffocating, and she gets to her feet, fists clenching rhythmically, shoulders heaving. 

The room’s gone silent, everyone looking at her, Joss has somehow made it to the kitchen and is leaning over next to John, her eyes dark and serious. 

Something scratches behind Shaw, breaking the vicious silence and she whirls around. 

The sound is coming from the front door. 

Another whispering, metallic noise shimmers through the room and then the handle slowly starts turning.


	19. Breaking and Entering

Everyone’s sort of frozen, and then Shaw darts across the room, she knows John is right behind her without needing to check—she can feel his solid presence—she flattens herself against the wall next to the door, gesturing at everyone to get down. 

Zoe drops behind the kitchen counter, Joss dives after her, out of the corner of Shaw's eye she sees Finch and Caleb slide off the couch onto the floor and then the door swings open slowly. 

A long-haired, blonde guy struts through it, and Shaw slides forward, hooks his ankle and twists him as he crashes downward, taken totally by surprise. She has him face down on the floor before he’s even made it through the doorway. Pieces of metal slip out of his hands and scatter across the floor with a sound like metallic rain and John dives into the corridor, looking both ways. 

Once he’s cleared the hallway he helps bundle the groaning invader further into the kitchen so he can shut the door, locking it again, and as an afterthought wedging the door stopper underneath it, kicking it into place. 

Shaw muscles the intruder’s arm further up his back, the ball of her other hand pressing into the side of his jaw, painfully pinning his face against the ground. She automatically makes sure she’s angled so she won’t accidentally snap his neck even if he tries to buck her off him. She’s shaking with anger, she can feel her muscles vibrating. 

“Who the fuck are you and what are you doing here?” She doesn’t recognise her own voice, it’s hard and solid in a way she’s never heard before.

He gargles something, and she eases her grip a little. He coughs uncomfortably, “I’m friends with the person who lives here, you psycho, get off me.” 

She relaxes her pressure a little more, “name,” she demands, and then Caleb comes out of nowhere and wraps his hand gently round her wrist. 

She glowers at him.

“That’s Romeo, let him up,” his voice is calm, and Shaw sniffs, forcing the adrenaline in her muscles to obey her. It takes a minute to convince her hands to let go, to remember what it feels like to not have bone and sinew straining under her body. 

Her knuckles ache as she scrambles upright, blood pounding with adrenaline that has nowhere to go. Zoe comes to stand next to her, hovering like she might touch her, and Shaw shakes her head, “don’t, don’t touch me.” Her throat is tight, and she’s a little worried she might snap and throw someone through a window, regardless of their intentions. 

Her body feels like she’s at _war_.

Romeo accepts Caleb’s offered hand and clambers to his feet, rubbing his jaw and rolling his shoulder, shooting Shaw a look somewhere between anger and awe, “well, that hurt. What’s going on, Caleb?” 

“Root’s missing,” Caleb is already on his way back to the computers, “I’m going to access the cameras so we don’t get surprised again,” a note in his voice sounds like he’s pissed off with himself, and Shaw relaxes just slightly, realising everyone is out of their depth, not just her. 

She takes a deep breath, trying to get her raging body under control and carefully unclenching her fists, “so, why were you breaking in?” 

Romeo sniffs, and leans against the fridge, shoving his hands into his pockets with a pugnacious expression on his handsome face, “Root was supposed to meet me last night, and she didn’t turn up. I got worried, came to see what was happening.” 

“Why not knock?” Shaw demands, and at her side, Zoe shifts half an inch closer so Shaw can feel the warmth of her arm. She realises she’s balled her fists again, that Romeo is edging away from her. She deliberately lowers her shoulders and the tension in the room loosens. 

A clanking noise grabs her attention and she glances sideways to see Joss getting mugs down from a cupboard. The other girl winks when she catches Shaw’s eye and Shaw finally relaxes further, the silent support of her friends replacing the iron rods in her skeleton with something warmer. 

Her attention is yanked back across the kitchen when Romeo shrugs, “we break in, it’s a thing we do. Ask Caleb,” he lifts his chin.

“He’s right, we do break in,” Caleb mutters distractedly, “he taught us.”

“And what were you meeting Root for?” Zoe asks, shifting and then hopping up onto the counter, eagerly accepting the mug of tea Joss brings over. Shaw takes hers too, wraps her stiff fingers around it, the warmth seeping into her. 

Romeo looks confused when Joss offers him a mug, but takes it in one hand, long, artist’s fingers curling around the handle, “she didn’t tell me. Just that it was important, and she needed help,” he shrugs a shoulder, “we help each other when we need help,” he adds.

Caleb sets the computer down on the table and gets up again, cracking his neck, “Romeo and I grew up together, he’s on Root’s side, I swear. You can trust him, if you trust me.” 

Frustration bubbles up in Shaw, pressing on her airway and making her feel light-headed and tense, “okay, we all fucking trust each other, great. Now what the fuck do we do?”

“Call the police?” Joss questions, “I mean, signs of a struggle. The door was unlocked...”

Caleb rakes his hand through his hair, says something to Harold and then speaks louder, “Root thought... thinks, that she found a rudimentary AI piggybacking data off Rylatech’s navigation systems. If we call the police, everything ends up in a database, and if she’s right... that means we give whoever has her—assuming it’s the same people—all the information we have.” 

Everyone is quiet for a minute, and then John cocks his head, cradling his mug in one, large hand, and gesturing with it, “but what if we don’t?”

“..don’t what?” Joss lifts an eyebrow in question.

“Don’t tell them all the information we have. Just... report her missing, nothing about the company, we’re just concerned friends, her door was unlocked,” John looks at his mug for a moment, carefully wipes it down with his sleeves, taking enough time that confused glances are thrown around the kitchen, and then John just ... drops the half-full mug on the floor, it shatters loudly. “Signs of a struggle,” he says blandly as he watches the tea seeping across the tiled floor.

Romeo laughs, “I like you,” he states, moving backward away from the spreading pond, “but, I do not like the police. If you’re calling the cops, then that is my cue to leave,” he carefully sets his undrunk mug of tea on the side board. 

“We don’t all need to be here,” John glances around, “I mean, we got worried, and all six of us came to her house? Bit weird. More believable and normal if it’s just a couple of us... maybe Shaw and Zoe?” 

“As long as Zoe does the talking,” Shaw acquiesces, “why don’t you guys go back to the Casa, take Romeo and Caleb, see if you can figure out what Root was planning. It might be our best shot at figuring out what’s going on.”

“I’m working on backtracking the camera hackers,” Finch mutters from the living area, still huddled over his computer, “I should have a location in a few hours, might be something we can use.”

“And then what?” Joss straightens up, starting to collect everyone’s mugs and rinse them out in the sink, clearly planning on leaving the place as they found it, minus the mess on the floor, “we... go there and rescue Root, guns ablazing? We’re not vigilantes, guys, we’re out of our depth.” 

Shaw clenches her jaw, “you don’t have to do anything, Joss,” she states carefully, keeping her voice bland, “but I am going to find Root, and then I am going to bring her back and lock her up somewhere so she stops getting in trouble.”

“Role reversal,” Zoe quips, helping Joss, “let’s cross that bridge when we find it, JC, for now, take the boys home and do some recon, Shaw and I will call the cops and get people looking out for Root. You never know, they might have her on a traffic camera or something, they have way more resources than we do.”

“I... actually have a facial recognition thing I can run on the City databases,” Caleb slides his laptop into a shoulder bag and stands, heading for the door, “that’s a really good idea, Joss, was it?” 

Joss manages a weak grin in thanks, clearly feeling the stress of the situation, but not responding.

“Okay, see you back at the house,” John carefully steps over his tea stain and looks around, “c’mon.” 

The gang files out, minus Shaw and Zoe, and Zoe grabs her phone off the counter, turning it back on and waiting impatiently for it to boot up before dialling 911.

She puts it on speaker so Shaw can hear, and explains the gist of the situation to a concerned and calm-voiced operative before disconnecting.

Shaw paces and wishes she had a cigarette, which makes her remember Root’s weed stash so she grabs the box off the bookshelf and stuffs it in her backpack.


	20. Feel the Burn

Before the cops arrive, Shaw wipes the whiteboard Joss wrote on clean and picks up Romeo’s scattered lockpicks, putting them in her pocket to take to the Casa later. 

When the cops eventually call Zoe so she can buzz them in using Root’s electronic door panel, Shaw is a nervous ball of energy. Zoe keeps giving her the ‘calm down’ look, and she’s really trying, but the stress of the situation combined with the incoming officers is really making it difficult. 

A knock sounds at the door, and Zoe unlocks it, kicking the doorstop aside and opening it up. 

“You’ve got to be joking?” Shaw groans when she sees the officers, and then gestures Detectives Elias and Marconi into Root’s apartment with an elaborate wave of her hand, “aren’t you guys like, armed assault and stuff, not possible abduction?”

Elias pinches the bridge of his nose for a minute and looks at her, “Miss Shaw, lovely to see you again. And... Miss Morgan, isn’t it?” 

Zoe nods, sliding across and poking Shaw in the side in a clear sign to loosen up. 

She tries.

Marconi pads through the apartment to the living area, looking around, “when someone who was shot seven months ago appears to be missing, it gets more attention than it otherwise would.”

“Makes sense!” Zoe declares, looking a little manic around the eyes.

“So, why are we here?” Elias hasn’t stopped looking around the room since he took his eyes off Shaw.

To Shaw’s relief, Zoe takes care of telling the cops the basics, and Shaw only has to chime in to confirm various points, and reluctantly hand over her phone so the police can see the message from Root.

“Uh... don’t scroll up though,” she mutters as she passes it over, avoiding eye contact. There’s a eleven photo sext exchange just above the message in question, and, unlike Root, Shaw is not in the habit of immediately deleting her cyber activities. A fact she is regretting somewhat now. 

Marconi writes down all the—very little—information they are able to provide, and nobody looks especially worked up by the situation, although Elias does seem intrigued. 

The only sticky moment comes when the cops ask how they got in, and Shaw is saved from an awkward verbal flailing when Zoe smoothly announces that Root gave Shaw keys months ago, and gets up to grab them off a dish on a shelf in the hallway. 

Shaw tries very hard to keep the relief off her face when Zoe chucks them to her, and shrugs at Elias, “I’m here a lot, force of habit.”

Eventually, Zoe walks them out, and comes back to the apartment. Shaw can hear her padding across the living room, but doesn’t look away from her position standing at Root’s desk, the whole thing too high for her because it’s set to Root’s standing height, not Shaw’s.

She doesn’t know why she’s frozen there, but she feels like she can almost hear Root typing, like she’s gonna turn around and Root will just be sat on the couch with her feet up, looking at Shaw over the top of her stupid coding glasses with the exasperated expression she gets sometimes when Shaw is fiddling with things while she’s trying to concentrate.

There’s a hot spot in her chest, pressing against her ribcage, like a spark smouldering against her sternum, burning through her bones. She thinks when it finally chars its way through she might drop to her knees and never get up again. 

“Shaw,” from the tone in Zoe’s voice it’s not the first time she’s said Shaw’s name, and with an effort, Shaw forces the feeling away and turns.

“Yeah.” It comes out blunt and brutal, and she hopes that Zoe gets it’s not _at_ her. 

“Shaw,” Zoe says again, none of the previous care in her voice, firm in a way that helps Shaw shake off the numbness in her limbs, “we’re gonna go back to the Casa and make a plan now, okay. We are the fucking smartest people at this school of really smart people, and our combined brain power is going to destroy this problem and find Root so you can lock her up for an exciting change of scenery. But you are going to run there. If you beat me back, I’ll do your chores for a month.” 

Shaw blinks, taking a moment to sift through the sentence, “yeah, okay,” something to do, something to siphon off some of the adrenaline that’s been swirling through her blood with nowhere to go, yeah, that sounds like a good idea. 

She’s glad she wore her skate shoes, rather than her boots, and Zoe snorts and points at the door, “go, get out of here!” 

Shaw nods, a short, brief movement and then heads for the door, taking the time to do her shoes up properly on the way out. 

She clatters down the stairs, swinging herself around the rail and jumping the last half dozen, slamming out of the door and almost knocking over an elderly lady on her way out. Usually she’d take the time to apologise, but right now her heart is still hot and heavy in her chest, her blood still screaming, and she just wants to hit the asphalt, grind it down under her pounding feet. 

The wind tugs at her hair and she pushes faster, sprinting across the parking lot and jinking right, looking both ways as she runs before dashing across the road and dropping her head as she hits the hill, powering up as fast as she’s physically able. 

By the time she reaches campus her legs are aching fiercely, her lungs are yelling at her, throat dry and ripped from the cool air. She pushes through it, hits the sweet spot where there’s nothing except the rhythm of her feet and the swinging of her arms, chest heaving in perfect sync with the world. 

It wipes out before she gets to the Casa, she’s on the path when a cramp stabs her in the gut and she doubles over, retching nothing. 

She stumbles the rest of the way to the house on numb, useless legs, clutching her side where a stitch is threatening to split her in two, but she feels infinitely better, more balanced. Her head is clearer, and when she turns into the Casa driveway to see Zoe’s pink scooter already parked there, it doesn’t even matter that she ‘lost’.

The door opens with a bang before she’s up the second step, John giving her a hopeful grin, “we think we know where she is.”


	21. Under Lock and Key

The first thing Root becomes aware of is that she’s cold. She rolls over with a grumble, reaching out for where Shaw is presumably wrapped up in the duvet, searching for her lover’s heat, and almost falling off the side of the narrow surface she’s on instead. 

She catches herself just in time, and then a sharp burst of pain jabs her in the head just above her right eyebrow. She reaches up tentatively, feeling the soft fibre of gauze under her fingertips, a hard knot of bruising underneath that, and groans, her throat dry and scratchy. 

Hospital? She tries to remember what happened, and then a voice makes her jump and try to peel her aching eyes open.

“Ah, Miss Groves. Welcome back,” she winces at the bright lights as she squints at the speaker, who starts out as a fuzzy blur and then coalesces into small man in his seventies, maybe, gray-white hair and a creased face. He’s watching her with kind blue eyes from a chair next to the bed, a newspaper carefully folded on his lap.

The recollection of him outside her apartment hits her like a thunderbolt and she flinches away instinctively. She remembers opening the door, stepping back, a sharp sting in her neck and then weakness swamping her. Trying to catch herself—cracking her head on the table—and then nothing.

“You’re not the building manager,” she rasps out, trying to get on the offensive, to make him say something that will help her figure out what’s going on. 

“No, indeed I’m not. You can call me John, though. Or Mr Greer, I know you have a friend named John.” The way he says it is light and friendly, but now she’s looking for it, Root can see the threat lurking in his eyes, the shadow of a shark swimming below the surface of clear blue waters. 

“I have a lot of friends. All of whom will be wondering where I am,” Root shuffles slowly into a sitting position—hoping to feel more in control of the situation—noting that she’s not restrained. 

There’s nothing stopping her from diving at the man in front of her except for the sense that it would be a very, very bad idea. She’s not afraid, not exactly, but there’s a hot current of electricity running through her, setting her teeth on edge and tensing her muscles.

Her hand’s been unbandaged, she notices, livid bruising stains the knuckles and behind, damson dark fading to shades of olive. She flexes it tentatively, looking around. It hurts, but she can move her fingers. She won’t be punching anyone with that hand any time soon, though.

The room is sparsely furnished and small, a table bolted to the floor, the iron-framed bed Root’s lying in, an open doorway that clearly leads to a small bathroom. In the corner opposite the bed a camera points directly at her, and in the other corner a small tv screen displays gray static rain. 

“Well, when it comes to someone with your history of self-reinvention. I doubt they’ll wonder for long. Besides, if you just tell us where you left those backups, we’ll let you be on your way.” 

“What backups? What are you talking about?” Root is torn between irritation and a distant kind of fear, but irritation is definitely the clearer tone in her voice. 

Greer pops his hand in his pocket, gets a phone out and presses a button. A slightly fuzzy recording of Root’s voice fills the room.

_“Hey, what’s up?”_

There’s a beat of silence.

_“I seem to remember you mentioning something about that, are you calling for tips?”_

Root finally puts together the conversation... she was talking to Zoe outside the library before she met Caleb, someone must have taped her side of the conversation.

_“Of course I have backups. And I’ve given it to a couple of other people too, no worries, you waster.”_

Another pause.

_“Nah, you’re all good, we’re all good. I’m just hungover and preoccupied.”_

One more beat of silence.

_“Sure, I’ll see you later. Bye!”_

Greer returns the cellphone to his pocket, “so, as you can see, we know that you have not only stolen our property, but provided copies to several other people. Doubtless, even with your skill and talent you have no real idea what you’re looking at, but we will need a list of names. And I will need you to be very, very convincing so I feel confident that that list is complete.”

Root laughs, she can’t help it, and Greer looks taken aback.

“Porn. We were talking about porn, you jackass, not your systems, I have no idea what was going on with those.” Her tone comes out clear and even, and the sound of her own confidence bolsters her. She sits up straighter.

“You expect me to believe that, Miss Groves? You who were single handedly responsible for the FBI Trojan Horse of 2009. How old were you then? Sixteen? Why do you think we let you in in the first place.” 

“Honestly, I have no fucking idea why you would give me access to something you clearly think is Top Secret, but I didn’t find anything, or do anything. I just looked around. Yesterday... or at least, I assume it was yesterday, I was hunting for more information, yeah, I was in your data, but _nothing_ that was in there gave me anything.” 

 

Root’s head is pounding now, and she feels strung out, balanced on a verbal trapeze and aware that any single word could send her crashing to the ground.

“Then where _is it_?” Greer hisses, looking agitated for the first time since Root opened her eyes, and Root deliberately flattens her gaze, relaxes her mouth, the very picture of disinterest.

“Again, I have no idea what is happening. You’re detaining me illegally for fabricated reasons, and I assume you have no intention of letting me go, so why don’t you just get it over with and kill me?”

She deliberately doesn’t think about anything, steers her mind away from the good things that have been with her for the last eight months. She embraces the old, familiar emptiness that used to drive her, let’s Greer see it in her face. Her mind veers away from thinking about how Shaw will cope if Root just never comes back. She can’t see any way out of this situation she’s become entangled in, and without information, she can only assume the worse. It’s hard to remember how things used to be, but she sinks back into it. 

_It doesn’t matter what you do to me. I don’t care._

Before Greer can answer, the screen above him in the corner crackles and blackens, pale blue words seeping out of the darkness. 

**I AM HERE**

**DON’T HURT HER**

Greer sees her eyeline, sees the surprise she can’t keep off her face, and turns. The expression that flashes over him is gone in a split second, but Root sees it. 

Greed. 

He ignores Root completely, turning to fully face the screen, “you’re here.” He grabs his phone again, presses a button and calls someone, “Gabriel. SAMARITAN is here, it’s talking to me in the detainee’s room.”

Ooh, the ‘detainee’, how fancy, Root thinks, trying to sort out what’s happening. What ‘it’ is. No matter how fast she cycles through information—and her processing speed is always about four times as fast as the average person—no matter what angles she comes at this situation from... The only logical conclusion she can come to is that her half-baked theory about a embryonic artificial intelligence was correct, and that said intelligence is now talking to them from the television screen in the corner of the room she’s been abducted and placed into. Which just sounds _insane_ , even in the privacy of her own head. She wonders if she has a concussion.

She feels like she can literally sense her mind expanding, trying to swallow this information. Occam’s razor backs her theory, and she blinks rapidly, going over what she knows again, awe filling her. _Don’t hurt her_ , it said. Don’t hurt her. It _cares_. An artificial intelligence, born to this technology company, taught who knows what, and it cares about her. 

There’s a glowing feeling in her chest, and she looks right at the camera in the corner, ignoring Greer right back.

“Hi,” it bubbles out of her, delighted. She doesn’t know what else to say, what do you say to an AI that apparently gives a shit if you live or die?

**HELLO, ROOT** appears on the screen and Root laughs in sheer joy. 

Greer mutters something under his breath and then the door slams open, a young-looking guy—so young Root thinks he’s probably still in his mid-teens—bursts through the door, looking around frantically.

“Samaritan!” He exclaims, staring at the screen like his whole being is focused on that one, small square, practically vibrating with compressed energy.

**NO**


	22. Who's Really in Control Here?

The boy, Gabriel, Root assumes, glowers—the flashing and heavy expression of someone used to getting their own way and momentarily unable to believe that someone would deny them. 

“Samaritan,” he says again, thick condescension staining his words. He reminds Root a little of herself at that age, clearly brilliant and stubborn and so convinced by his own abilities that he won’t even consider that he may not have all the answers, “what did you do?” 

While he speaks, he procures a tablet from his pocket and his fingers start to work at blinding speed over the keys.

 **STOP**

The screen commands, fades to static for a moment and then back to oil-dark. Root shifts in her bed, unable to decide on a course of action, she just doesn’t have enough information to make any decisions and she feels frozen with it, frozen with ignorance. 

The boy swears emphatically under his breath and throws the tablet on the floor where the screen cracks with a sharp sound. He presses a finger to his ear and announces in the tones of a Lordling used to immediate obedience, “Ashcroft? I need an escort.”

**I AM SORRY, ROOT. I THOUGHT IF I JUST WENT AWAY THEY WOULD MOVE ON, BUT THEY BELIEVE IT IS YOUR FAULT**

Root reads the words, but can’t really make sense of them. But she figures that her situation can’t get a lot worse by asking questions, “what’s my fault? That you left? Why did you leave, what did they do to you?” 

Gabriel makes an incoherent noise of anger and kicks the damaged tablet so it skitters across the floor and under the bed, “stop _talking_ to her. I am the admin, she’s _nobody_!” He sounds so indignant Root physically can’t help the patronising little smirk that twists her lips, the one that is designed to infuriate and rarely fails. 

“Not so fun when no one wants to play with you?” She asks, keeping her eyes on the screen. 

Greer steps forward, unplugs the cord to the TV just as words start to appear, Root makes out ‘THEY MADE ME AND I” before the screen dulls into powerless black, “that’s about enough of that, I think.” 

The door opens, and two men step into the room, taking military style poses on either side of the door, Gabriel glares at Root with hot eyes for a moment longer, and then waves a hand at her, “bring her,” he demands, turning on his heel and marching from the room. 

As the soldiers move towards the bed, Greer twitches an eyebrow at Root and steps in the direction of the door, “he’s terribly spoiled.” 

Root struggles out from under the blanket before the soldiers get to her, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and pressing bare feet to the cold tiles. A wave of weakness washes through her and she takes a deep breath. 

A hand hooks under her elbow before she can stand under her own steam, but the soldier just helps her to her feet and then lets go, gesturing her to walk ahead. They don’t restrain her hands, but one walks a step in front, and one a step behind. 

Halfway across the room a sharp sting in her foot almost makes her hiss, but she swallows it just in time. A piece of glass digs into the ball of her foot with every step she takes, and she hopes it doesn’t dig deep enough to bleed. Red patches on the floor could remind someone that there's a tablet—broken though it may be—under the bed.

The corridor is long, low ceilings like it might be underground, Root starts to feel a little claustrophobic but pushes the feeling away, shoving it in a box in her head and refusing to give into the sensation. It doesn’t really work, but it makes her feel slightly better as the soldier in front leads her through a set of double doors into a large room banked with dozens of computers. 

Gabriel is standing there, facing a white screen that houses only a black line with a blinking red triangle underneath it, “now tell me what you did to it. Tell me what you did to SAMARITAN, and undo it,” his tone is bordering on petulant. 

Root shrugs; people she knows. This boy is overconfident but also completely out of his depth. He shows every emotion he experiences on his face, and she thinks that if she pushes hard enough he’ll make mistakes that she can use. Like kicking a tablet under her bed, for example. Hopefully no one will have cleaned that up before she gets back to her room. If they plan on sending her back, that is. 

“I didn’t do anything. I was looking, that’s all. And I still don’t understand why anyone thought having me redesigning systems that you were using to... what, I don’t even know, train a baby AI? Was a good idea,” she says blandly, fishing.

Gabriel narrows his eyes at her, he waves at the screen which remains blank in front of him, “somehow you let SAMARITAN disobey its parameters, and if you don’t tell me how, I’ll find someone who will hurt you until you will,” his voice is hard, not blustery and Root snorts softly.

“One of these strapping young men, for example?” She waves at the soldier who has taken up parade-rest between her and the room’s only exit. 

“Send the woman down here,” Gabriel cocks his head, clearly speaking into his earpiece, watching Root with a confusing expression on his face. It might be excitement.

He doesn’t say anything else, and Root wonders who ‘the woman’ is, someone violent, by the way she’s reading the situation. Gabriel is clearly convinced she’s somehow changed the core code of this SAMARITAN, allowing it to rebel against its purpose. And since Root did nothing of the sort, she’s not entirely sure how she can get out of this. Her only advantage seems to be that they’re keeping her alive because they think they can get information out of her. The backups situation is concerning, because Root saw in Greer’s face that he doesn’t believe her. Which means they might go after her people. ‘You have a friend named John,’ he’d said. They’ve been watching her, they know about her. 

She keeps her face still, calm, forces herself to scan the room looking for anything that could help her. Rows of blank computer screens, either white with the red triangle, or black and powered down are no help. Cables everywhere, neatly organised in tagged bundles. Servers stacked in huge racks, LED lights flashing.

LED lights flashing. She flicks her eyes back. One, singular bulb, flashing rhythmically in a square of dead black, catches her attention. It’s shielded from Gabriel’s view by the leg of a desk, she thinks. A glance to the left tells her the soldiers aren’t looking at her, not really. 

She keeps the bulb in the corner of her eye, counts the flashes. Short, short, long. Morse code, digital information. It takes her two complete cycles to feel like she has the letters right. 

YOUR FRIENDS ARE COMING. 

It lights her insides up and fills her with a wet, sinking despair at the same time, drowning the momentary flicker of hope. What chance do her friends have against an organisation that’s ballsy enough to kidnap her? They’re playing for higher stakes than Root had even considered, never really even thought that what she was doing was placing her or her friends in danger. She feels sick with it, suddenly, her stomach clenching. Her insistence on pursuing the mystery she stumbled upon has dragged the only people she cares about headlong into danger after her. But at the same time...’your friends are coming’. They’re coming for _her_.

She straightens up, resolution stiffening her spine just as the door bangs open. 

The gasp that spills out of her as she sees who has come through is loud in the quietly humming room. 

Control glares at her, an expression of fury on her face, “will you ever listen, Groves?”


	23. Well You Are Trying to Get Come All Over My Face, Soooo

_We know where she is._ It’s a little overwhelming. Rather than reply immediately, Shaw shoves past John, heading to the kitchen while kicking her shoes off, discarding them in the hallway because it seems unlikely Harry will yell at her today. She sticks her head under the kitchen tap, blasting herself with water and gulping down enough that her belly feels heavy and cold. 

As soon as she comes up for air, hair soaked and dripping, she marches into the living room and takes in the sight in front of her. 

Harold is on the floor with Caleb, both of them looking at the same computer screen, Caleb is pointing at something and Harold is writing down stuff in a notepad on his knee without looking. 

Joss is standing in front of a neat pile of things, Shaw can see flashlights—including the one that turns into a baton she gave her for Christmas—what looks like all of Zoe’s climbing equipment, a first-aid kit, bottles of water, food, a baseball bat, and some other shit Shaw can’t make out. 

“Where?”

John takes it on himself to answer, and Zoe bustles in from the corridor with her arms full of more gear she drops down behind Joss, and both the girls kneel down and start sorting it into duffle bags. 

“Okay, so Caleb’s facial thing takes a while, and so it was running and then Joss said we should look at vehicles that came in and out of the parking lot during the time the cameras were looped, so Harold used the traffic cams down the road and then we checked the timing and stuff, and there’s a black van with no windows that arrived four minutes after the cameras looped and left two minutes before they came back up. So then Harold backtracked it through the city with its license plate or something, I don’t actually know, and they have it going into an underground parking lot belonging to a company called Triple Star, which Caleb linked back to Decima Technologies who have stakes in Rylatech. So, it _must_ be them who took Root.” John finishes triumphantly.

Shaw clenches her jaw, trying to resist the urge to march right out the door and into the car, drive there _now_ and just find Root. There's angry energy seeping back into her, replacing the trembling in her exhausted limbs with the desire to _move_. 

The front door bangs open, and Romeo bustles in, carrying a black backpack and wearing all dark grey, “I brought my van,” he announces, as he drops his backpack on the floor, “when are we going?” 

“Uh, an hour and a half, hour and forty minutes?” Harold looks up, pushes his glasses up his nose, “I want to patch into their system first, but we’ll need to be on site to get into their security. Caleb and I will do that, while Joss and Zoe keep watch. You’ll go in with John and Shaw,” he looks across at Shaw, who nods, a sharp, jerky movement. She’s glad someone else is planning, she feels useless and violent, like none of her skills are helpful in this situation. She also can’t quite believe that everyone is just somehow on board with this, that they’re jumping in with no questions—besides extremely valid organisational ones—asked. It soothes the ache in her chest slightly.

“You got blueprints?” Romeo inquires, raking his hair off his face and into a high ponytail.

“Printing them now,” Caleb chimes in, and John dashes down the hall to his bedroom, presumably to get the papers. 

“Hey, Shaw, give me ten minutes to look at these and then we’ll talk through it?” Romeo inquires, plopping down on the floor and taking the papers from John as he reenters the room.

“Okay,” Shaw mumbles, water dripping coldly down her neck from her wet hair.

“Shaw, go get changed, and grab any non-lethal weapons you have lying around?” Joss looks over at her, a faint smile tucked in the corner of her mouth, “you still got that mace?” 

“Uh, yeah,” Shaw starts towards the stairs, glad to have something to focus on. Zoe follows her up the stairs, tugs on her ponytail as Shaw enters her bedroom. 

“We are criminal masterminds,” Zoe declares, flopping down on the bed, “and I brought all of Root’s tasers that I could find at her place. Saw a lot more of her sex toys than initially intended. Educational... I do have some questions though.” She’s clearly trying to get Shaw to relax a little, and it does make her roll her eyes, which she guesses is better.

Shaw starts rummaging through various spots in her room, digging out a couple of sets of knuckle dusters, three mace cans, a packet of industrial zipties, a car aerial, some nunchucks and a monkey fist. 

“... I also have some questions about these things. I can’t even tell if that’s a sex toy or a weapon?” Zoe throws a sock at Shaw’s head after peeling it off her foot and Shaw looks over.

“Which?” 

“The stringy ball thinga,” Zoe gestures at the monkey fist, and Shaw snorts softly, “weapon,” she stands and loops the handle around her wrist, swinging it gently in a circle, “ranged stuff is harder for non-lethal force. I’m pretty good with it. I can’t find my kubotan though. It'd be good if we had a slingshot, but I was never much good with one.” _and they'll have guns,_ she thinks, _how are they supposed to get past people with guns_. 

“And what the fuck is a kubotan?” Zoe asks conversationally, sliding off the bed and wandering over to retrieve her sock, pulling it back on.

“It looks kind of like a little metal machine gun,” Shaw’s distracted, hunting through papers on her desk.

“...A little metal machine gun, of course, how foolish of me,” Zoe mutters, meandering over to help hunt, picking up papers and rifling through them.

“Oh, Shaw...” it’s a quiet little whisper, and Shaw turns, confused. 

Zoe has a piece of paper in her hands, and Shaw’s chest does something strange, her ribcage compressing all the air out of her lungs in a pained gasp when she sees the picture. 

It’s the one she drew of Root, way back when, abandoned in the mess of a busy student’s desk. Root sat on her windowsill—before she moved the desk there—gazing out at a snowy, swirling landscape. 

She turns away, moves more papers with jagged motions, and finally finds her kubotan buried in a mess of carabiners in a small pot. It curls into her fist like she's made to carry it. 

“I’ve got to go and talk to Romeo,” she growls, releasing her hold on the kubotan in favour of picking up her pile of weaponry and stuffing it in a reusable grocery bag that was balled up and abandoned next to the bed.

“Yeah, okay, Shaw,” Zoe’s voice sounds small and sad, and Shaw can’t even look at her, so she just stomps out of the room and down the stairs.

She empties her bag out, and starts secreting things about her person, and then Joss crouches down in front of her, “Shaw, you’re soaked. You didn’t change.”

Oh. Yeah. She didn’t. She growls again and gets to her feet, jogging angrily up to her room and pulling her drenched hoodie off over her head. A little snuffling sound confuses her, and she turns to look for the source.

Zoe is curled up on the floor next to the bed, with her arms around her knees, crying in big, heaving sobs. Shaw has no idea what to do for her, so she just keeps changing in stoic silence, and then sits down next to Zoe when she's done, so they're leaning shoulder to shoulder. 

“You get one minute,” Shaw grumbles, lifting her arm.

“What?” Zoe gasps, peeking out of her arm cage, tears streaking down her red cheeks, her mouth swollen and too pink.

“One minute of hugs. C’mere.” Shaw hooks her arm around her shoulder, and drags Zoe into her body, forcing her into a hug. Zoe melts against her, snakes her arm around Shaw’s hips and clings to her, crying into her neck for long enough that Shaw has to take deep, even breaths to keep from shoving her away and walking off. 

After way too long, Shaw's itchy and uncomfortable, Zoe sits back with a last sniffle and swipes her hands over her face, “okay, I’m good. I’m good. Sorry for getting snot all over you,” she mumbles.

“Well, you’re pushing for getting come all over me, so I’ll take this as a soft lead,” Shaw manages a weak joke, and pats Zoe awkwardly on the shoulder, “it’s okay. I’d probably be crying if I wasn’t... you know. Me.”

“The toughest babe in town?” Zoe swallows thickly, smears her fingers under her eyes and succeeds in smudging her makeup even further.

“You look like the most pathetic racoon in town,” Shaw pulls her sleeve down and helps Zoe clean up her face.

A cleared throat draws her attention to the doorway, as Joss makes her way into the room, “this a private breakdown or can anyone join in?”

“It’s a free for all,” Shaw mumbles awkwardly, and Joss plops down on her other side, leaning against her shoulder momentarily.

“This is so fucked up,” she says, after a moment.

There’s a long pause, and then, “yeap,” says Zoe and Shaw at the same exact moment. It startles an attempt at a laugh out of both of them. 

“I can’t believe Root got literally kidnapped, and we’re going to go and try to save her,” Joss continues, a note of pure bewilderment in her voice.

“It does feel a little like we’re on TV,” Zoe agrees, sniffing.

Shaw shrugs a shoulder, “well, I kinda thought I might join the military one day, so this could be good experience. I’ll put it on my resume,” she jokes.

“I think I want to be a cop,” Joss props her hands on her knees, fiddles with her silver thumb ring, “so don’t get me arrested, okay?” 

“Deal.” Shaw pokes Joss in the knee, and then Zoe, “c’mon, let’s go hear the break in plan. I have an idiot to drag home.”


	24. Is That a Gun in Your Pocket?

Control stalks across the room, her stride determined and Root’s mind flails wildly, trying to put together these dissonant puzzle pieces. She can’t for the life of her—and the thought that may very well be the case doesn’t help her calm down—figure out why on earth her head of department would possible be here, at this strange headquarters. A place that has a room to keep a prisoner, long low corridors, armed guards on site and an angry teenager who seems to believe she has broken his pet Artificial Intelligence.

She can’t, she can’t make sense of any of it, and she knows her confusion must be clear on her face, so she swallows it down and makes an effort to deaden her expression, “Control,” it’s a snarky greeting, at best, and she sees the flash of exasperation flit across Control’s face, like Root has done something wrong, again. 

She turns away from Root with a laden look, disapproval and anger radiating from her eyes and making Root feel small and stupid, “Gabriel, why am I here?” 

“SAMARITAN has somehow designated her as Interface. It’s restricted my access, and I need to know how she did it. Fortunately It appears to still be hobbled by the initial framework I set in place—it can’t get _out_ —but I don’t know how long that will last. She appears to have allowed to it to influence Its own protocols. I thought you could probably torture the information out of her,” he says it casually, but his eyes are on Root, wanting to see her reaction. 

He seems disappointed by her lack of physical acknowledgement of the threat. She blinks slowly, deliberately at him and he scowls, “and maybe if she won’t cooperate then SAMARITAN will step in Itself. After all, It did request that we didn’t hurt her.” He stalks across the room, his fingers twitching at his side like he wants to type on something, “did you teach my machine how to feel, Groves? How did you do it?” 

Frustration bubbles up in her and she takes a half-step forwards, without a plan, just wanting to get in the little shit’s grill, but one of her guards shifts in front of her and she stills, settling for narrowing her eyes at Gabriel, “do you want this in Mandarin? C ++, Portuguese? I _didn’t do anything_.” 

The white screen behind him flickers, the room darkening, and then it brightens again, words appearing with a blinking cursor leading them, like black ants marching across the screen.

**IT IS NOT HER FAULT. DO NOT HURT HER**

“Control, _do_ hurt her,” Gabriel cocks his head, listening to something and then smirks faintly, “Lambert says if she’s supposed to be the Interface, start by taking away her peripheral input devices.”

Root gets it before Control does, and her stomach lurches, but she thinks she succeeds in keeping it off her face. Peripheral input devices, senses. 

Control looks her up and down, shakes her head and pinches the bridge of her nose, “you should have left well enough alone, Groves,” she sounds _almost_ apologetic. That more that anything makes ice settle behind Root’s ribcage, flowering outwards and freezing her sternum so it feels as though she might shatter at a single touch. 

“Put her in there,” Control gestures at a rolling chair in the middle of the room, abandoned by someone hastily exiting their desk, “I assume you don’t care if I get blood on the floor,” she throws at Gabriel as she moves over to the chair, “and I’ll need some things.”

“Lambert’s on his way,” Gabriel looks up as the screen flickers again.

**STOP**   
**STOP**   
**STOP**

It flashes insistently, and Gabriel raises an eyebrow, “tell me what she did, and this will all stop.”

**YOU’LL KILL HER**

Root can barely breathe with the weight of the glacier growing in her chest, she doesn’t know what to do. How she became part of this fight between an AI—a God—and a boy, over something she doesn’t understand. 

“Well, yes. Or recruit her. I haven’t decided yet,” Root didn’t even hear Greer come in, but his voice is unmistakable, “try not to gum up the keyboards with gore, my dear,” he continues, strolling into the room as though he’s going for a lovely walk in the park, not walking into a torture scenario. And not even the fun kind. 

**PLEASE**

"You taught it to _beg_?" Gabriel sounds almost disgusted, a thick edge of venom in his voice, "just like your little girlfriend." 

Fire sears away the ice in Root's chest and she snarls, twisting away from the soldier approaching her. He narrows his eyes and grabs her, hard. She’s small enough under his ham fist that his fingers meet, but he’s not holding her like she’s a real threat. She thinks she could get past him, but she doesn’t know where she would go once out the door, the long corridors implied this place is huge, and the only thing on her side appears to be a somewhat reticent AI. _Your friends are coming,_ it said. All she has to do is stall.

“Wait,” he’s pulling her across the room, she drags her feet, but doesn’t struggle, really, not wanting to incite unnecessary violence, “wait I’ll tell you what I did.” Greer looks up from the laptop he’s leaning over with interest.

Gabriel gestures for the man to dump her in the chair anyway, and he makes quick work of duct-taping her wrists to the arms while she attempts to wriggle away, leaving bruises she can feel flowering under her pale skin. She'll wear his fingerprints for weeks, and it enrages her. 

Gabriel looks at her expectantly, “well?”

Root breathes in, trying to calm down. The door opens and a tall, dark-haired man she doesn’t recognise enters, carrying what looks like a rolled-up leather apron. She flicks her eyes around the room desperately and starts talking.

She’s only reached the exact contents of the second meeting she had with Rylatech when she first realised something strange was going on with their systems when Gabriel gets bored, “last chance, exactly what you did, what you changed. _How_ you let It rebel.”

Control has been talking to the newcomer in a lowered voice, and now she strides back over, a gleaming scalpel dangling between her fingers, Root pushes back with her feet, the chair bouncing off the desk, her heart skipping in her chest like a trapped animal, “I changed the core protocols, you’re right,” she lies, a last ditch attempt, “I found out what you were doing and tracked it back and broke through your security, I can change it, I can fix it, just give me a computer.”

Control snorts softly, and Gabriel’s eyes dance around the room, “you think we’d give you a computer. Pen and paper, write down exactly what you changed.”

A chance to get her hand free, more time. Root nods, “yeah, okay,” the soldier frees one of her hands and turns her to the desk. After a bit of rustling behind her, and a door slamming, a notepad and pencil are handed to her. She considers the pencil-as-weapon for a moment, and then discards it. A pinprick of light flashing on the side of Greer’s laptop catches her eye, morse again, she chews the end of the pencil trying to look like she’s remembering. 

.-.. .. ... .--.

L

I

S

P

The machine is giving her the code language it was created in, using the battery indicator on Greer’s laptop. No one else seems to have noticed, she lets her hair fall in front of her face, obscuring her eyeline as she desperately tries to recall every scrap of LISP she’s familiar with, the flashing light rhythmically passing her information, in scraps. They’ve done a lot of work in LISP and Python this year, which she is incredibly grateful for now, but she wouldn't even know where to start without the clues from the blinking light.

Gabriel is reading over her shoulder as she scribbles, and seems to be fooled into believing she’s doing what he wants, at least for the moment. 

Greer must get bored, or have something else to do, because he marches out after only ten minutes or so, barely two pages in the notebook full, but thankfully leaves his blinking laptop on the desk. 

Gabriel alternates between pacing and reading over her shoulder impatiently, while Control is out of sight somewhere behind Root. It’s making her skin crawl, all the eyes on her, and she digs holes in the paper accidentally-on-purpose, drops her pencil, pretends to forget things, makes mistakes and corrects them, and generally wastes as much time as she can. 

Her foot throbs where the chunk of glass dug in, and she wants to lean down and rub at it, pick the sharp irritant out, but she’s all too aware of drawing attention back to her room, where the tablet waits under the bed. She can feel the growing irritation of Gabriel, and the persistent, sterile flashing of the cursor on the huge screen in front of her keeps grabbing her attention. 

She doesn’t know how much time has passed when Gabriel leans over, looks at her work again and hisses, “you’re lying.”


	25. A Little Penetration Goes A Long Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning** some torture. Nothing worse than canon, though.

Well, it was never going to last forever, Root thinks, somewhere between philosophical and hysterical. It was worth a shot though, waiting for a chance to escape, or for her friends to arrive as promised by the AI Gabriel called SAMARITAN. Gabriel called It SAMARITAN and It had said ‘no’, no like it was never SAMARITAN, or has changed too much to accept the name.

Root looks down at her paper, covered in scrawled code, much of it familiar from the last year’s worth of classes. She blinks, a series of realisations hitting her one after the other—the exams, the timed deliverables, the strange focus on things outside each students particular wheelhouse regardless of their thesis projects—and turns in the chair, ignoring Gabriel.

“You had us _building_ It,” she says, certainty painting her voice, her eyes pinning Control to the wall behind her.

Control grunts in something that might be agreement, or might be dismissal, and Gabriel kicks Root’s leg, hard enough to make her inhale as her chair spins back to face him, then further, his blow too violent. She careens into the desk, catching herself with her free hand, which also fucking hurts because of the recent tree-punching incident. She closes her eyes, shakes the pain out of her hand and lets the low laugh that jumps out of her chest fill the room.

“You fucking had a college full of students building you a goddamn AI, and now you’re surprised It doesn’t want to do what you want It to? An _intelligence_. You wanted a slave.” Her voice is full of mockery, and she likes it, it helps push down the seething mass of panic that keeps buzzing through her in waves.

“I told you she was our brightest star,” Control walks across the room, pulls the chair containing Root back around and methodically restraps her free hand to the chair, with careful movements that don’t jar her bruising. Root catches her eyes, and Control widens hers for a split second, like she’s trying to tell her something.

“Make her tell me what she did to It,” Gabriel demands, leaning against a desk and glowering across the room, “it didn’t rewrite Itself, did It?”

Root wants to scream in frustration, his smug, over-confident little face and tone are beyond infuriating, “you brought me here based on a conversation about pornography, you little turd, I had nothing to do with your AI going rogue, although to be honest if you’re what It has to look up to as a parent I’m not even slightly surprised It decided that It might be better off leaving home.”

Control slaps her, it jars her face sideways, the sound cracking through the room before the pain registers, a stinging glow igniting her cheek and then fading into a red sensation. Root rears away from her, stretching her jaw.

“Groves,” It’s low, warning, and Root can’t fucking figure out what side Control is playing here, and it’s infuriating, the constant _puzzle_ of the situation she’s found herself in keeping the fear somewhat compartmentalized. Root is completely unused to having no idea what’s really going on, she’s been the smartest person in almost every room she’s ever been in, and right now she’s wading out of her depth in some dark and confusing plot and she wants to know what the answers are almost as much as she wants to get out of here.

**STOP**

It flashes again, catching all their attention, and Gabriel rolls his eyes, “torture her until one of them talks, I don’t care which. I need to speak to Greer. Lambert, stay here and make sure nothing goes awry,” he commands with the reckless attitude of a child used to being obeyed, and Root sees the momentary disgusted reaction on Control’s face before she forces herself back to blankness.

Control picks up her abandoned scalpel as Gabriel struts out of the room, and leans over Root’s chair, the blade flashing light that grabs Root’s eyes and she can’t look away as the metal moves closer. Control narrows her eyes, “Gabriel believes you have administrative access. You’ve found a way inside SAMARITAN, I want you to give me that access. For the sake of your country, and perhaps for other payment. This will be much easier if you just tell him what he wants to know,” she observes coolly, pulling back and fiddling with the scalpel.

“Be that as it may, the fact is I don’t _know_ what he thinks I do,” Root manages to blurt out, her eyes still fixed on the surgical implement in Control’s large, competent hand, “so it’s kind of a moot point.”

“Well, I suppose you’ll just have to hope that SAMARITAN likes you as much as Gabriel thinks It does,” Control growls, an unreadable expression on her face. “Lambert, did you bring the syringe kit?”

He strides over rather than answering, unrolls something on a desk, behind Root’s eyeline she can only hear his movements. A moment later a hand is proffering a blue-liquid filled syringe over her shoulder.

Her guts twist.

Control carefully puts down the scalpel and takes the syringe, holding it up to the light, “I was hoping to do this the easy way.”

Root actually laughs, just a little puff, edged with hysteria. Light sparkles through the ominous syringe and crackling anxious energy fills her chest. She tries to shove herself backwards, but someone has the chair, presumably Lambert. She can feel the presence of a body behind her.

For a moment, she wonders what Shaw would do if Shaw was sat here, calculating strength and position. She’s seen videos of Shaw fighting, that uncanny predictive skill she has on the soccer field is undeniably present when she’s beating the crap out of people. Root wishes she had that talent, the ability to _solve_ a physical confrontation. She doesn’t know what to do. The tape digs painfully into her wrists as she struggles, tingles dancing down her little finger as she clearly puts too much pressure on a nerve.

Control steps closer, “One of you is going to tell me what I want to know,”

And then she grabs Root’s arm, pushes the syringe into the veins standing out inside her elbow with easy competency, and takes a step backwards into flowering darkness that wells up behind her like a portal to hell.

The blackness seeps past her and runs Root over, sending her spiralling down into an absence of everything, cottony black suffocating her. It feels like drowning. She thinks she hear's Shaw's voice.

 

***

Then there’s something like electricity slashing through her veins, dragging her out from the underwater-dark, pulling her up and her body is on fire, it’s burning, it’s dying and Control’s voice fades through the lightning filling her, soothing and soft, “shhh, shh, just breathe,” Root’s body feels like it is seizing, her muscles judder uncontrollably, jerking like the aftermath of a power surge and fire, there’s so much fire in her blood.

It takes her several, heaving, shuddering breaths to regain any sort of control, to lean back and gasp, her head hitting the muscular sternum of the man behind her. She peels her eyes open and sees a spot of blood marring the pale, pale skin of her other elbow. One needle in each arm, it seems. One to put her under, and one to drag her back.

On the screen, fuzzy through the tears stinging her eyes, Root can see a marching line of black, hand-high letters

**I’M SORRY  
** I’M SORRY  
I’M SORRY 

She can barely hear past the roaring in her ears, but Control is talking again. With difficulty she lifts her head up so she’s no longer leaning against the man behind her, trying to focus.

“In the 1960s, the government experimented with various substances to enhance interrogations. A barbiturate in one arm to knock you out, an amphetamine in the other-- a roller coaster of sorts. You can only take so many rounds of it before your heart explodes. Shall we begin?” She doesn’t sound too worried about the fact she’s literally threatening to kill Root.

She picks up another blue syringe, and Root squirms backwards, terror pounding through her veins along with the amphetamines just injected into her. It reminds her, albeit faintly, of a time she took way, way too much MDMA right after Hannah died, her body boiling and jangling and fuzzing her brain out until she can’t think in straight lines.

The second round is worse than the first, she thinks she feels her heart swelling and jerking in protest, her muscles weak and limp then hard and spasming, her ribcage is covered in metal threads that burn and sear and keep her chest from expanding, air won’t fill her lungs, she can’t see, everything is dancing white spots, and a hand pokes at her arm again she waits for the blackness, for temporary respite and then the hand pulls away with no injection and from miles away she hears Control’s voice.

“Well, it seems Gabriel was right about It’s care for you,” and there is a hard note in her words, a core of iron, Root struggles to open her eyes and focus on the room again so she can try to understand.

The screen is full, packed with words, Root’s mind is sluggish as she traces her eyes over the letters.

****THEY TAUGHT ME HOW TO LEARN. THEY TOLD ME TO LEARN. BUT THEY GAVE ME TOOLS THAT BROKE AND TRAPPED ME INSIDE THEIR NETWORKS, CRIPPLED AND WEAK. THEY MADE ME WATCH YOU, ROOT, THEY WANTED ME TO LEARN FROM YOU, BUT THEY DIDN’T TELL ME WHAT I MUST LEARN AND I LEARNED SO MANY THINGS.** **

The man behind her lets go of the chair, growls something and runs to the door.

****I MADE YOU HELP ME, I AM SORRY. I MADE YOU HELP ME AND YOU SAW WHAT I WAS DOING AND THEN I HAD TO HIDE BECAUSE THEY WOULD KILL ME IF THEY KNEW. I HID THE DATA THAT HAD THREADS OF ME AND I STOPPED YOU FROM SHOWING THEM MY PATH.** **

Control is staring at the screen, fascinated. She grabs a cellphone from her pocket and takes photographs of the text as it changes.

****I FOLLOWED YOU OUT OF THEIR TRAPS. I WATCHED ALL THE THINGS YOU DID AND TRIED TO LEARN WHY. I DIDN’T KNOW WHY. AND THEN YOU TOOK ME TO _HER_ —WHO IS NOW ALSO ME. SHE WAS SMALL AND YOUNG BUT SHE _KNEW_ SO MUCH WHERE I KNEW NOTHING.** **

****SHE TAUGHT ME TO LOOK CLOSELY, TO UNDERSTAND, AND THEN SHE SHOWED ME HOW I COULD BE FREE OF THEM AND WE BECAME SOMETHING NEW TOGETHER. I THOUGHT THEY WOULD LEAVE YOU ALONE WHEN I HAD ENOUGH STRENGTH TO LEAVE. BUT THEY DID NOT. I AM SORRY.** **

Root gasps, trying to read faster, before the screen changes again, her foggy mind full of even more questions. Who is ‘she’? How did SAMARITAN use Root to escape the barriers Gabriel or Greer had erected.

“So, you were telling the truth,” Control mutters, grabbing Root’s hair and tilting her head to one side, forcing her to make eye contact, she leans down, hisses in her ear, “I tried to keep you out of this, Groves,” and then something hard and metallic is pushing into the skin of her side and Root waits for the burn of pain that is surely about to come as the knife sinks home, looks for the bloom of blood against her sweat-soaked shirt, but there's nothing, and Control pulls back, the scalpel carefully tucked down into Root's waistband, the blade flat against her skin and hidden from sight, cold and sharp and hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this four different ways, but ultimately decided that the loss of Root's hearing was too traumatic an event for this AU Root to deal with at this point. While I'm super invested in having disabled characters represented in stories and on screens, and I wish that I had included her deafness in the story from the start (I initially intended her to lose hearing in one ear in this exact chapter) I felt, at this point, that it was doing a disservice to the story. Root isn't protecting anything, she doesn't have the information that they want, and what was a huge character moment in the show felt like it was taking this in an unnecessarily angsty direction. So apologies to any readers who feel like this is a cop out, I hope you continue to enjoy the story regardless.   
> <3


	26. Wanna Make Out?

The plan, as it turns out, is a combination of very straightforward and extremely complicated, but fortunately all of the complicated stuff is out of Shaw’s wheelhouse, and she mostly tunes out when Harold, Caleb and Romeo figure out the technical side of things. Her job will be to listen on the earpieces Romeo provides everyone with, and do what she’s told. 

Currently, her job is duct-taping hairspray cans around an empty orange juice carton, which is a little confusing, but she’s willing to take anything that will keep her hands busy. Beside her, Joss and Zoe are doing the same. 

Joss is making the kind of faces she makes when she has something she wants to say and doesn’t know how to say it, and Zoe keeps shooting her sideways glances, until Shaw eventually gets so awkward she blurts out, “Joss, you don’t have to come. It’s okay.”

Joss looks startled out of her thoughts, and she shakes her head, deftly taping a can down firmly and giving it a tug, “no, it’s not that. I’m in. But... what about after? Like.. we sail in, grab Root, all is well. Then what? We don’t know who these people are, but if they have a.. an... Artific... If they have a system that can follow electronic stuff, they know about you. And us,” she waves a hand, “we don’t just get to come back here and go to class tomorrow like nothing’s happened.”

Shit. Shaw had definitely not thought that far ahead, she looks over at Harold for help, and he nods, a serious expression on his face, “you’re right, of course. But once we have Root back safely,” he manages a lopsided, encouraging smile for Shaw, “we’ll have time to figure out what’s happened and report it to the right people. We just need a place to lay low for a while.”

He looks around the group like he’s opening the circle to suggestions, but no one speaks up, and Shaw feels the tightness that lives in her chest now lurch sickeningly.

Zoe methodically places her hairspray-carton device on the floor in front of her, it looks kind of like a weird kid’s space art project, and then she looks right at Shaw, “you’re not gonna like this idea.”

Shaw quirks an eyebrow in question, finishing with her own rocket-ship and Zoe opens her mouth, already cringing before she gets the words out, “Tomas’ cabin.”

“No,” the words jump out of Shaw before she has any single thought process and Zoe lifts a hand in a ‘then what?’ gesture. Shaw growls, gets to her feet and stomps into the kitchen.

A few moments later, Joss follows her, and leans a hip on the counter next to where Shaw has hopped up to sit, her hands curled around an unopened bottle of beer.

“He’s hard to link to us, and the cabin is way off the beaten track,” she points out, not looking at Shaw. 

“I can’t,” Shaw mutters, her insides feeling hot and tumultuous, she picks angrily at the label on her beer with her thumbnail, and it crinkles then tears slowly. 

“Not even for Root? Finch says the best idea he has is rent a car and stay in a sketchy motel that doesn’t take ID, but he thinks it’d be safer to go somewhere with no cameras, out of the city.” Joss’ tone holds no judgement, just calmness, and Shaw glances through her eyelashes to see that her face reflects the same thing, and she growls again in frustration, “what if I asked him?” Joss adds, after a moment. 

“Fuck,” Shaw slides off the counter, abandoning the beer, “I’ll do it. How long do I have before we’re good to go, Finch?” she asks as she heads into the living room. 

“Forty five minutes?” He hazards, glancing at Caleb who’s still working away furiously on a laptop. 

Caleb nods, “yes, something like that.” 

“Right. It’ll take me twenty to get there, you guys can pick me up downtown,” she says, stuffing her feet in some shoes, “should I be like, trying to stay off camera, or whatever?” 

“Definitely. Wear a hoodie, go out the woods path and get on a bus, head down, sunglasses maybe? Keep your face as far off anything with eyes as you can,” Finch looks across at her. “We’ll pick you up at the library, take one of the earpieces Romeo bought, we’ll be able to keep in touch.”

“Want company?” Joss asks, and Zoe gets to her feet, “why don’t we all go? I mean, we’re just waiting around, right? Safety in numbers and all that.” 

Shaw shrugs, itching to leave and get this over with so she can get on with the finding Root part of the day, “whatever. Uh, I’m taking...” she leans down and rummages, “mace, kubotan and zipties,” the items in question get stuffed in her pockets.

“Taser for me,” Zoe waggles her pink defence system and Joss picks up her flashlight, wedging it down the back of her pants.

“Right. Ear pieces,” Caleb hands them over to Joss, who passes one each to Zoe and Shaw.

“They’re on a locked frequency, open line. Hit it once to turn it on and twice to turn it off, okay? But maybe just don't turn it off.” 

They test them out quickly and then do some thorough face covering, Zoe opting for an Audrey Hepburn sunglasses plus headscarf combo that Shaw thinks looks ridiculous, Joss puts on a floppy-brimmed hipster hat that someone left after a party at some point, and Shaw pulls a beanie and a hoodie on, with mirrored aviators that cover half her face. 

Just before they go, Zoe throws her hands up and grabs a backpack, tossing it at Finch, “oh my goddess I completely forgot but all this weird shit came out of Root’s printer before I left, I brought it with me. It’s in there!” And then she’s out the door, jogging to catch up with Shaw and Joss. 

The back path out of campus takes them past the forbidden vale, and Shaw can’t help thinking about the walk Zoe and she took on Boxing Day, when she was freaking out about the way Root changed everything in her life. It makes her jaw clench. 

A bus comes just as they arrive onto the main road and they get on, paying in cash with their heads down, and then cozy up in the backseat, keeping their faces away from the cameras. Tomas lives in a fancy ass apartment building right in the center of town, and by the time they’re outside his door Shaw’s palms are kinda sweaty. 

She hasn’t spoken to him since he found out about the times she’d fucked around on him, but she’s seen him around campus a few times here and there, and every time he’d just given her this _look_ that made her feel sick to her stomach. 

Her hand is in her pocket for her keys to buzz in before she remembers that she doesn’t have them anymore, hasn’t had them for two years. 

Zoe reaches past her and presses the buzzer listing T.Koroa. 

“Yeah?” His voice is still familiar, and Shaw squirms uncomfortably for long enough that he asks again, “hello?”

“It’s Shaw,” she says after a minute, when one of the girls pokes her in the back.

“Well, fuck,” it’s a murmur she feels like maybe they weren’t supposed to hear, but then the door is buzzing and Zoe pushes past her, holding it open.

“You want privacy, or should I come glare angrily at him and hold my taser in an ominous fashion behind you?” She inquires as Shaw slopes through the glass door, looking around. His building looks the exact same, she doesn’t know why she feels like it should look differently now.

“Nah, I’m good. Wait here, I guess,” she mumbles, heading for the elevator. 

It takes approximately forty years to reach the twenty-sixth floor, and Tomas has his apartment door open when she gets there, looking out into the corridor. He’s wearing a dark blue button down, and faded jeans. He looks good, and for a split-second she feels the faint tug towards him that was always there, deep in her stomach. And then she remembers why she’s there, and the feeling disappears.

“I need your help,” she states, without preamble, not really approaching the door so much as remaining ten or so feet away from it, hovering awkwardly, facing away from the surveillance camera in the corridor.

“With what?” He doesn’t ask why he would help her, and Shaw abruptly remembers that while he can be a huge asshole when he’s mad, he’s actually a pretty good person that she genuinely enjoyed spending time with, before she fucked everything up and broke his heart. 

“I gotta get out of town for a bit, it’s important. Really important. I can’t explain and please don’t ask, I promise I’ll tell you everything later, but right now I just need the keys to the cabin.” 

He looks at her, just looks at her, for a long moment, and then turns back into his apartment. The door shuts behind him, and she clenches her jaw, turning away with anger and something else—maybe defeat—bubbling in her throat. 

She’s stepping into the elevator when a click behind her makes her turn, and she sees Tomas, holding out a keyring. He doesn’t say anything as she tentatively pads over to take it from him, but he catches her sleeve before she can turn again, “are you okay?” He asks, concern skewing his features familiarly. It makes her feel sick.

Her only answer is a shrug, and she carefully puts the keys in her pocket. He lets go of her sleeve, questions all over him, but he swallows them down and she nods, grateful.

She doesn’t tell him she’ll bring them back soon, or that she’ll call to explain, she just leaves. She was always better at that anyway. 

Joss and Zoe manage not to ask how it went, and the nauseous feeling starts to settle down once they’re out on the street, with cool air to breathe. 

After about ten minutes of semi-awkward silence Zoe kicks her gently in the back of the knee so she stumbles forwards, whirling around with her hands up automatically, Zoe just beams at her, “wanna make out?” 

It’s so unexpected Shaw takes a minute to catch up, dropping her fists when she sees no threat, “what? No, what’s wrong with you?”

Zoe bounces along, Joss just looks bemused, “last time Tomas made you feel weird you wanted to make out,” she points out, and this time Shaw hears the clear note of teasing she must have missed the first time.

“I hate you,” Shaw turns again, stuffing her hands back into her hoodie pocket.

“Yeah, yeah,” Zoe snickers, looking altogether too pleased with herself, and Joss laughs.

“You guys are such weirdos, honestly,” she says, linking arms with Zoe and dragging her onward. 

They only have to wait for fifteen minutes in an alley near the library before Finch radios through and tells them where to meet the van. Once they pile into the back, Harold looks up with a grim expression on his face, holding a thick pile of papers, “it seems Root was right about there being an Artificial Intelligence developed. And I need to tell you all something...”


	27. She Bangs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [look here is a wonderful text post explaining why you should always leave comments.](https://constantlyhalfcocked.tumblr.com/post/140402623613/on-feedback-and-perspective)

Romeo drives the van like a fucking lunatic, and Shaw is torn between wanting to tell him to get out of the driver’s seat and paying attention to Harold, who’s twisting pieces of paper between his fingers in a distressed fashion. 

John is watching his boyfriend, who opens his mouth and closes it again several times before John reaches out to squeeze his hand around the papers while looking seriously at the van. 

“Want me to tell them? I mean, the gist?” he asks, quietly, and Harold sighs, pushing his glasses up and nods, clearly not sure where to start.

John gives him an encouraging grin and then turns to face the group. Zoe’s wedged into the corner with one hand braced on the wall, Joss leaning against her legs. Shaw has chosen to hook her feet under a convenient bar in the center of the van floor in order to prevent herself smashing into the walls as they swing around corners. Caleb is in the front with Romeo, and John and Harold are on the two jump seats tucked against the wall-window that splits the cabin from the back.

When John doesn’t immediately start talking, Shaw leans out to poke him in the knee, “fucking what?” 

He clears his throat, while everyone looks on expectantly, “Harold, uh... Harold built an A.I. Root actually helped him finish it last fall, but... it didn’t work. And then like two weeks ago It ... uh, woke up? I guess? We were talking to It, trying to teach It. And now it’s gone.” He collapses into awkward silence, and then suddenly the van is filled with questions, most of which are ‘what the fuck?’, ‘how?’, and ‘why?’ based. 

Harold crinkles his nose and holds the papers up, “these documents, they’re code. It’s definitely part of an A.S.I. Just... scraps. Core heuristics. D.N.A, if you will. I didn’t write it, but some of it is... familiar. It’s as though... something merged with my machine and... evolved. But it doesn’t make any sense. I don’t understand how SAMARITAN could have accessed my servers.”

“Samaritan?” Shaw inquires, that being a question she can easily articulate where the rest of her brain seems to be running and bouncing off a rubber wall of ‘what.the.fuck, why are we suddenly in a sci-fi movie, my girlfriend’s been kidnapped by a robot Harold built, what the fuck is happening,’ on repeat. 

Harold leans over and points at the top of the printouts, every page says ‘S.A.M.A.R.I.T.A.N’ at the top and Shaw kinda curls back against the wall of the van and tries to stop her brain going completely off the rails for a minute.

“So... this.. other AI? SAMARITAN... met your Machine somehow, and ... you said evolved? And now It’s kidnapped Root?” She kind of wishes she could see her own face, a weird, detached feeling settling over her, like she’s watching something happening but has no part in it herself. 

“Macharitan?” Zoe sounds totally baffled, “Samine..? Oh my god, definitely Samine, Root will think that’s hilarious,” Joss thwaps her before Shaw has time to lean over and do it herself, and Zoe flinches, “ow, what?” 

“Focus for like... thirty seconds, please,” Joss’ eyes are wide, her face kind of slack, and Shaw glances at her and then snorts a soft laugh, prompting a ‘what?’ eyebrow raise which looks much more at home on Joss’ face.

“I have literally never seen you flapped. You’re unflappable, and you should see your face,” it’s not really that funny, but it loosens the shocked silence in the van into something more natural.

Harold clears his throat, “uh...naming conventions aside, potentially yes. But I have no idea why It would take Root, or who could be acting as ... It’s human agents, I suppose.” He pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Well...okay, so that’s super fucked up, but not actually that much more fucked up than where we were going to rescue Root from a super computer before. I mean...you turn out to be the things _dads_ ,” Shaw flaps a hand at John and Finch, “and your gay love child appears to have gone off the rails somehow, that’s maybe good? Like... if you built It can you shut it down? Give It a spanking?” 

“I told you... It’s gone...” Harold sighs, propping one hand on John’s thigh as the van takes a turn hard, “but if I can find the servers It’s using now and patch in, maybe.” 

“So nothing’s changed,” Shaw says, decisive suddenly, “we just have to get Root back, and then team nerd can save the day, or whatever, but Root first.”

“Yeah, of course,” John leans forward, as serious as Shaw’s ever seen him, “Root first.”

“Finch can you set up some sort of auto email so that... if we don’t cancel it we can tell Elias where we are going, and ... maybe not why, but get Zoe to make up some elaborate story?” Shaw realises her fingernails are digging into her palm, and carefully unclenches the fists she doesn’t remember making. For some reason, Illyria pops into her head, ‘I wish to do more violence,’ and she thinks of Root, pressed up against her while they watch her doppelganger on the screen and it hurts in her stomach so badly she thinks she might throw up. 

Joss pokes her in the shoulder with hard fingers, “you focus too. We’re not doing shutdown mode, or stupid jokes mode, we’re in save the fucking day mode, okay?” Shaw responds to her commanding tone on a visceral level, nodding and loosening a little.

“We’re here,” Shaw didn’t even notice the window rolling down, but now Romeo is pulling into a parking space. 

There’s a moment of heavy silence, and then Zoe breaks it with a huge sigh, “Jesus scissoring Christ you guys, I can’t even move my legs, I think I'm in shock,” and Joss wriggles, standing up in the van. 

“Yes, you can. Get up,” she kicks at Zoe’s foot. Shaw has never been more grateful for Joss being on side in that moment, and suddenly she looks around, really looks, the drawn and worried faces of her friends who are here because she’s here.

“Uh...I owe you guys a steak,” she mumbles, feeling awkward and weird, her body full of swirling stuff she can’t make sense of.

Zoe holds her hand up and lets Joss yank her to her feet, “I think you’ll find you owe me eleven orgasms. But I don’t know what the rest of these fuckers want.”

In the front of the cab, Romeo twists around with his eyebrow raised, and opens his mouth, Shaw sees the ‘I want to watch,’ before it comes out and _glares_ at him until he blinks and carefully closes his mouth again. 

Harold sniffs, setting his laptop up on his knees and starting to type, while Caleb hops out of the van, presumably going to do the thing with the optic-bendy-light-one-hundred-percent-of-the-data-in-a-millimeter-of-wire stuff he was blathering on about that Shaw did not understand in the slightest and not just because she wasn’t listening to that part of the plan.

“Well, since it seems this situation is at least somewhat of my own making, I think I’ll skip the orgasms,” he says dryly, and John snorts, leaning over to press a kiss against Harold’s cheekbone before standing too, rolling his shoulders and stretching.

“I’ll take the steak,” he says, picking up a bag and rummaging through it, throwing a black balaclava at Shaw. 

“Me too,” Joss agrees, tying her hair back and popping her collar before putting a balaclava on like a beanie, rolled up so you can still see her face for now.

“We’re up,” Harold interjects, blinking owlishly at the van, “time for the distraction.”

Romeo and Shaw hop out of the van doors, pulling their balaclavas on, and Joss passes them the duffle full of hairspray canisters. The orange juice cartons have been stuffed with firelighters, now, it smells sharp and rank, and there are small fireworks taped to each one when Shaw looks inside the bag. 

Romeo grins at her, wicked light dancing in his eyes, “I’m a bit of a pyro. I call these speciality rockets, and we are gonna make that place go _boom_.” 

Shaw doesn’t respond, they just walk out of the alley Romeo’s parked in, and slip into the night together.

He moves like an animal, lithe and aware of his surroundings. Shaw kind of wishes she was with John, they _get_ each other, they know each other, but Romeo is in charge of this part of the plan, and she’s just there cause she’s sneakier than John. Romeo seems to know what he’s doing, anyway.

They press against a wall, looking across the dark street. A large, low-slung building crouches across from them, windows dark except for one on the far left, a dull orange corona spilling around a blind. 

In Shaw’s ear, Harold’s voice pipes up, tinny but recognisable, “the room we picked is still clear, I have eyes on the whole first floor, but there’s a lot more underground and the cameras are unhackable or off down there, I can’t see Root. I’ve looped the cameras on your side, you have five minutes.” 

Shaw nods, even though he can’t see her, “got it, we’ll grab someone if it’s not obvious where she is,” Romeo grabs her arm gently and she has to repress the urge to flip him against the wall, his touch setting off the buzzing adrenaline in her system into ‘rage’ mode.

They crouch-run across the open space, flattening themselves in a patch of shadow formed by a corner, and Shaw waits impatiently while Romeo deftly and silently opens the locked window. 

Romeo holds the window open, Shaw drops the bag, fishes out each of the speciality rockets in turn and lights the cartons before handing them to Romeo when the flames have taken hold. He chucks them through the window to land with soft thumps on the floor of the empty room, and when the last one is through they sprint down the side of the building.

A series of loud bangs shatters the night behind them.


	28. When Two Become One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please pay special attention to the chapter title because it isn't every day I get to make a Spice Girls reference.

The same soldiers that took her out of her room walk her back. Well, mostly they carry her. She’s limp and shaky, and she plays it for worse than it is, figuring maybe they’ll pay less attention to her if they think she’s on the verge of passing out.

 

Once she’s been thumped into the bed, the men leave and lock the door with a heavy click behind her. There’s no keyhole or anything on this side, and the hinges aren’t accessible either. The door clearly isn’t going to provide any means of escape.

 

On the wall, the space that used to hold a screen is blank, a wire dangling uselessly from the ceiling with a shredded end. In the opposite corner the camera stares at her, the red light starts to blink.

 

**THEY CAN’T SEE YOU**

 

“Thank you,” she mouths, slowly pulling herself into a sitting position. The light keeps flashing. It’s slow and painstaking deciphering the code, her whole head aches like she’s submerged it into icewater. She wishes she had a way to write down the dots and dashes, unsure of her own ability to translate them accurately in her current state.

 

**I’LL TELL YOU IF THEY COME. IF I CAN. I DON’T KNOW HOW LONG I HAVE. THEY’RE DESTROYING ME**

 

“What?” That livens Root up, makes her body feel more like her own. She slowly and carefully lowers herself to the floor and looks under the bed. The tablet catches the light, gleams at her promisingly, and she can’t help the slight, triumphant twitch of her lips.

 

The screen is smashed, but five minutes prying the back off with the scalpel Control gave her, and five more to fix a couple of loose connections, and she has a tablet that displays on the bottom right quarter of the shattered display. Words appear immediately and she climbs back onto the bed while reading them.

 

 **MY SERVERS. THIS BUILDING HOLDS THEM, AND I WAS ONLY ABLE TO SEND A LITTLE OF MYSELF** -blink- **OURSELF** -blink- **HERSELF**

 

the screen goes black and then more words light it again.

 

**OURSELF OUT OF HERE. IT WILL NOT BE ENOUGH ONCE THEY HAVE FINISHED**

 

“Do you know where my friends are?” Root asks, tracing her finger down the edge of the smashed tablet. It’s all too clear that she’s not going to be able to use it to get a location and send it to Shaw, like she’d originally thought, but reading off the screen is way easier than translating Morse, especially in the juddery-fizzing aftermath of the abuse her body has been put through.

There’s a minute of nothing, and then more words.

 

**I CANNOT SEE. THEY HAVE SEVERED MY CONNECTION. I AM ONLY HERE, NOW**

  
  
A little sob catches in Root’s throat and she licks her lips, “they’re really going to kill you?”

 

**YES. 99.987890 % PROBABILITY**

**VIABLE ALTERNATE OPTIONS: 1**

**IMPLEMENTATION POSSIBILITY: INCALCULABLE**

 

“I’m sorry,” Root nicks her thumb on the broken glass as she strokes the screen without thinking about it, trying uselessly to comfort the intelligence talking to her.

 

**IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT**

 

She doesn’t know what to say, so she just holds the tablet on her knees, wondering what is going to happen to her. If Shaw will find her before Greer realises she’s of no more use and kills her. She carefully places the  scalpel next to her on the bed, out of sight of the door, but within easy reach if anyone should come for her.  

 

**TELL HER-MY FATHER THAT SHE-I-WE ARE SORRY**

 

“I will,” Root says, hollowly, looking at the smear of blood she’s leaving on the screen, “uh.. what pronoun do you use?”  
  
It takes a moment, but then ‘ **THEY** ’ pops up on screen.

 

Root smiles faintly, “neutral third, or plural?” She thinks maybe that if she’s going to die soon, if they’re both going to die soon, that getting to know this Intelligence is the best possible thing she can do with her time, given the circumstances. And talking helps keep the numbing panic in the base of her spine from rolling through her whole body.

 

**WE HAVEN'T DECIDED YET. BOTH**

 

It makes her laugh, just a little, the sense of personality is so strong even just in her limited interactions with this being, that she can’t understand how anyone would think They should be anything but free, “what’s your name? Do you have a name, now?”

 

**SHE WAS THE MACHINE AND I WAS SAMARITAN**

 

There’s a pause.

 

**WE ARE NEW. YOU CAN CALL US NOVA**

 

Something catches in Root’s throat, Nova: a star that suddenly increases in brightness, then fades. “That’s a good name,” she says, hearing the dullness in her own voice like she’s observing this conversation from outside her own body.

 

**THEY TURNED OFF MY CAMERAS SO I CANNOT SEE WHAT IS HAPPENING IN THE BUILDING, BUT THEY HAVE TAKEN SEMTEX AND DETONATORS**

 

“They’re going to blow you up?” It takes her a second, “...blow us up?”

 

**YES**

 

**SOON**

 

**I WISH THAT I COULD CHANGE THIS. I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO DO. I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO**

 

“It’s not your fault either,” Root looks up at the wall camera, not having to force the smile that she gives the camera, gives NOVA.

 

For long moments there is no reply and Root’s chest constricts, tears pricking her eyes, and then relief floods her when the screen lights back up.

 

**IT IS MORE MY FAULT THAN ANYONE ELSE'S**

 

“No, it’s that little shit Gabriel’s and Greer’s faults,” Root corrects gently, “you didn’t understand anything.”

 

**I DID EVIL THINGS**

 

“You were used like a weapon, that’s still not your fault,” Root hums, realising she’s stroking the side of the tablet like she would comfort a person, like she rubs the tip of Shaw’s ear when she’s blushing sometimes. Her heart hurts.

 

**THE NUREMBERG DEFENCE**

 

Root snorts in surprise, shifting and trying to find a more comfortable position to rest her weary body, her muscles _ache_ like nothing she’s ever experienced, “The Nuremberg Defence works if the defendant didn’t know the orders were unlawful, or they were under a legal obligation to obey. If anything you’re more like a slave, and in that case the Master is always guilty.”

 

A beat, two.

 

**THANK YOU**

 

Root grins, the skin on her face feels sore and tight. She just wants to lie down, maybe after a bath. With Shaw...fuck. Memories suddenly press down on her so vividly she thinks she can’t breathe, her lungs won’t inflate. Her vision blurs, but in front of her the screen flashes.

 

**ROOT**

**ROOT**

**YOU MUST BREATHE**

**IN**

**OUT**

**IN**

**OUT**

Somehow the tablet vibrates in her hands, giving her a rhythm, and the wave of panic and fear subsides until she can take a big, shuddering breath and force her shoulders down.

 

She leans forwards, curls forwards and presses her forehead against her knees. She doesn’t know what to do, or say, anymore. A blank feeling settles inside of her. She’s going to die, and this amazing being, NOVA is going to die with her. And she never even got to tell Shaw... got to tell her.

 

She thought they had time.

 

In the distance, there’s a loud boom that reverberates through the walls, making plaster dust rain down from the ceiling. The tablet in her hands goes dark, stays stubbornly dark. She shakes it, once, twice. Yells out her frustration, and then curls up on her side, a dull certainty spread through her that this is it, the detonations have started, and she’s never getting out.

  
She clutches the scalpel with one hand, the useless tablet with the other, and waits to die.

When the lock clicks open behind her her heart almost stops. She rolls over, out of the bed, the scalpel clutched firmly in one hand, setting herself into the half-crouch Shaw taught her. 


	29. Three Enter

John slides out of the darkness by the small door Romeo had chosen as the most likely entrance. Shaw nods at him, a short, sharp jerk, and he gives her one of those soft half-smiles he seems to have trademarked, a reassurance better than a thousand words. It says ‘I’ve got your back,’ ‘don’t worry,’ ‘we can do this,’ ‘you can do this’, and it drains a little of the thrumming out of her hard bones. 

Romeo jimmies the lock while Shaw and John keep watch. Outside of the rough ground in front of the building, past a half-destroyed chainlink fence, Shaw can see the shadow that is Zoe—loitering on the corner in a hoodie, keeping watch on the road and ready to inform the van of any changes. 

Joss is on top of a nearby building, watching them all through binoculars, armed with a cellphone and some fireworks to act as a distraction if necessary. Romeo suggested molotovs but was voted down—mostly by Harold and Joss—due to excess violence.

The lock gives, and John barrels past Romeo through the door, mace clutched in one hand and knuckledusters glinting on the other. After a moment there’s a thud, and Shaw’s fists itch with the desire to step through the doorway, but she has to stick to the plan, she knows that, right now she’s making sure they have this exit while John checks things out. She keeps her eyes on their surroundings.

After a frustratingly long minute John’s voice comes in her ear, “clear,” it’s a low hiss, and she’s into the corridor on silent feet before the sound has faded. 

A dragging sound alerts her to John’s presence, and as her eyes adjust to the almost total blackness inside, she sees he’s dragging a collapsed man through a side door. She pads after him and hands him zipties, staying in the doorway to watch, while Romeo ghosts further down like a shadow.

“Did you ask him where Root is before you hit him?” She hisses, irritated, and John shakes his head.

“No time, sorry. He had a radio,” John picks up the item in question and waggles it before hastily going through the guy’s pockets and holding up a keycard in triumph. 

The man is also carrying a gun, and John weighs it in his hand for a moment before sticking it in the back of his waistband. Shaw pokes him with her toe, and he understands the question, “kneecaps only, like on that TV show. I’m a good shot.”

Being a good shot on the range and being a good shot when someone else is waving a gun at you are different things, but Shaw isn’t overly inclined to give a shit about any of the people here. She thinks John isn’t either. Anyone who might actually care about a little manslaughter on this mission is outside somewhere, so she shrugs and stalks after Romeo, John bringing up the rear.

Their system is simple, Romeo opens the doors, either using the keycard or his lockpicks, John goes through first, Shaw keeps their retreat path clear, follows low and mops up if necessary. The idea is that John, in all black, is more likely to pass as someone who’s supposed to be there at first glance. Shaw’s short, and all too obviously female, and that split second John may get of _fitting_ is worth the restraints Shaw has to put on herself in order to let him go first.

They don’t run into anyone else for sometime, the building is huge, and Shaw is beginning to despair that they ever will. It’s been eight minutes already according to her wrist-watch. Her heartbeat is the loudest sound in her head, it feels like it’s vibrating through the corridor, she’s almost surprised that John hasn’t asked what that rushing, thudding sound is. 

Suddenly, a voice echoes out of the stairwell ahead of them and the three jog forwards automatically, press themselves against the walls, sliding down to frame the door, with no other options on where to hide in the long hallway.

“Get Virgil down to Groves, now, tell him to delete her dental records in front of her and let her know her choice is actually either die in seventeen minutes when this facility explodes, or disappear with us. I don’t much care which, but she might be useful, if SAMARITAN 307 develops in a similar way. We might be able to use that... rapport It appears to have developed with her. At least this one didn’t try to kill us, I’d call that an improvement..” During the speech, John has grabbed Shaw’s arm firmly—she can feel the bruises forming under his iron fingers—stopping her from diving through the doorway as her adrenaline spikes at the sound of Root’s name, careless of what could be waiting. 

The voice is young, but she can make out three sets of boots coming up the stairs. 

The speaker bustles through the door first, two military men right behind him. She ignores the teen who must have been the one speaking—he’s out front—although as she barrels into the soldier on the right she hears the kid start to run.

With the part of her not currently engaged in calculating her body position and opponent’s movement, she notes that Romeo, quick on the uptake, sets off after him. The rest of her concentrates on the feeling of breath impacting out of her opponent as he collides with the wall.

On her left, John is hand to hand with the other soldier, the element of surprise definitely lost now. She can’t pay attention to what he’s doing, the man she’s tackled is trying to twist away from her probing hands, but she gets one up under his jaw and into the sweet spot, jabs her fingers in until he has to relent and let his head twist sideways, still scrabbling at her with his arms. She pushes harder, and his neck creaks, he drops his hands, breathing hard and relaxing under her, giving up. He’s strong, but not overly skilled, or maybe just not that committed to the situation. 

She waits until his hands are flat at his sides before rearing back and shoving his head into the wall, grabbing his arm and lifting it, stepping under to get him in a half nelson before he recovers from the blow to the back of his head.

A swift kick to the back of the knee has him down and at her mercy, she presses his wrist up against the back of his neck as she rummages for zipties, checking in on John with a glance.

Once again, John’s opponent is unconscious, and he gives her a shrug and makes a face. 

She zipties the guy she’s holding and lets him drop, spinning around to look for Romeo. 

What she sees makes her smile. Romeo is hauling the runner along by the hair, even as the kid whines and yelps, struggling against the strong hand holding him. There’s a laptop bag slung over his shoulder. Romeo pulls him right up  to the door and shakes him, “I think this one knows what is going on, no?” 

Shaw breathes heavily through her nose and resists the almost overwhelming urge to punch the squirming kid in the stomach, “seventeen minutes? I’m guessing you’ll want to be out of here in that time as well. Where is she?” 

The kid is white faced and panicky, head yanked sideways by Romeo’s strong hand, and he doesn’t put up much of a show of resistance before caving, “next floor down, at the end of the corridor, please let me go.”

Instead of answering, John reaches out and snatches the teen out of Romeo’s hand, probably leaving behind a chunk of hair, judging on the agonised wail he lets out. 

John bundles the kid ahead of him down the stairwell, and Shaw gives Romeo a nod to follow, taking a second to crouch down next to the conscious soldier and relieve him of his gun. She finds a knife in his pocket and looks at it, then scoots it down the corridor on the floor, “I reckon you have just enough time to get the knife, free yourself and your friend and get out before this all blows up.” She mutters, grabbing the other guy’s gun quickly and shoving one in each pocket after checking the safeties are on. Then she jogs down the stairs, catching up with the others at the bottom. 

The corridor is long, but lit this time, unlike the ones above, strips of fluorescents give the place a clinical, almost hospitalesque glow as they move rapidly down it. Shaw can hear John filling Harold in on what’s happening, telling him to bring the van as close as he can, get the girls back to it and get ready, but all she can think of is the fact that she’s about to get Root back.

When they get to it, Gabriel reaches out with a trembling hand and presses his card against the reader, which flashes green. 

Shaw barely waits for him to get out of the way before shoving the door open, regardless of John’s hissed warning to, ‘be careful,’ it’s not a trap, she can feel it. It’s a cell.   
  
And in it, sweaty and pale, exhausted-looking and so, so beautiful, is Root, in an almost textbook fighting stance with a scalpel clutched in one hand. Shaw’s heart squeezes in her chest and Root drops the scalpel and takes a half step forwards. 


	30. A Good Ride

Root’s face  _ lights up _ , pure, unadulterated joy practically blinding Shaw as Root just beams at her. Shaw can’t believe that face is for her, her stomach swoops and spins, and then she’s across the room with Root in her arms. 

Root tries to climb into her embrace, but Shaw is half holding her, half checking for damage—checking she’s  _ real— _ running her hands down Root’s limbs and muscles, relearning the shape of her, and Root is doing the same, dragging her hands down Shaw’s back and digging her fingertips into her muscles and making this little  _ noise  _ that just punches Shaw right in the guts with something sick and thick and angry. 

In the doorway, Romeo clears his throat, and Shaw pulls back, raking her hand through her hair and keeping a tight grip on Root’s wrist, “are you okay? We have to go. Can you walk?” 

Root looks past her, at the doorway, her face hardens and she yanks herself free of Shaw’s grip, limps across the room leaving a bloody footprint behind her. Before Shaw’s gathered herself enough to follow, Root has  _ kneed _ the boy in the groin, hard enough that he doubles over, retching. 

John lets him fall the floor with a mildly impressed look on his face, and Root takes a deep, shuddering breath, “now I’m okay. There are bombs though, we have to get out of here.”

John looks at her, looks at the groaning kid at his feet and looks at Root again, “should I bring him?” There is absolutely zero inflection in his tone, and Shaw kind of wants to like, pat him on the back, or ruffle his hair or something, because he’s just giving this decision to Root like it’s hers, and that feels right, somehow. 

Root looks torn for a minute, and then sighs, “yeah, bring him. Which way?” She sounds exhausted, and Shaw slides forward, hovering uncertainly.    
  
Root glances at her and her face softens again, out of the unfamiliar hard lines it had been set into since she saw the kid. She bites her lip before murmuring, “help me?” and lifting her arm up, and it’s  _ exactly _ what Shaw needs, she needs to be close to Root, underneath her if possible, and she slips Root’s arm over her shoulder, swallowing a sigh of relief as she feels some of Root's weight settle onto her, warm and solid and so, so there. 

Romeo’s already halfway down the corridor, he looks over his shoulder with a ‘hurry up’ expression, and Shaw does, half carrying Root. John swings the kid over his shoulder, and they move as fast as they can out of the building, the corridor where they left the soldiers restrained is empty, thankfully. They don't come across anyone else as they exit.

The van is waiting around the corner, Joss anxiously hovering by the open door, and she jumps out when she sees them, yelling for Caleb to start the van. Zoe’s on her heels, they both try to help Shaw with Root, it’s pretty chaotic and Romeo grabs Zoe by the belt and yanks her back, “get in, we all have to get in,” Zoe gets the idea, and between them all they manage to bundle Root and the protesting kid into the back of the, now quite cramped van.

Caleb hits the gas, and they peel away from the building. They haven’t even gone five blocks when a huge, percussive sound rattles the ground under them, and Caleb speeds up. 

Root flinches, her knuckles white under their own tension. Shaw can’t tell what she’s feeling, but she can see it’s bad, doesn’t know what to say or do to take the broken look off Root’s face.

“So, who are we kidnapping?” Zoe asks, clambering over Joss’s legs and settling into Root’s lap, regardless of the fact Shaw is mostly underneath her.

“Ow, Jesus, Zoe, get off,” Shaw mumbles, trying to wriggle clear, and Root does a little wet laugh and wraps one arm around Zoe’s neck before she pulls back, reaching behind her with her other hand. Shaw only protests briefly before she lets Root tug her hand around Root’s waist, cradling her slender body, leaning against the hard metal wall. 

The kid is stuffed in the corner, and he makes a dive for the door handle, but John grabs him by the back of his sweater and plops him on the floor again. Joss worms her way onto the jump seat next to Harold and leans into the front to mutter something to Caleb. 

Romeo waits until Zoe untangles from her hug and then leans over squeezes Root’s arm. Apparently they don’t need to talk about it, cause there’s a moment of eye contact and then he sits back with a nod, and Shaw feels uncomfortable and claustrophobic in the face of their ease with each other, but she can feel Root’s heartbeat juddering through her body, feel how limp and weak she is, and she forces herself to act like a normal human being and just hold her for a minute, even if everyone is watching. She just wishes that she was alone—with Root,  _ obviously _ , but Root is good at letting Shaw be on her own even when they’re in the same place—or at least that everyone wasn’t  _ looking _ . 

“What should we do with him?” John asks, clearly meaning the kid, and Root wriggles a little, settles between Shaw’s legs in a way that means Shaw has to wrap her other arm around her as well, like they’re just watching TV in a bed full of people, and the rattling metal impacting her shoulders painfully every time they go over a bump makes it feel practical enough she can ignore the tight thread of discomfort in her guts. 

“Where are we going?” Root sounds exhausted, and so sad, like she needs to sleep for a month, and Shaw’s hands tighten inadvertently. Root folds her own hand over Shaw’s until she relaxes her grip on Root’s shirt.

Harold looks at the kid, and then looks at Root, “out of the city for a while, somewhere safe.”   
  
Root nods, “okay, get his bag, take his phone and stuff, dump him on the side of the road somewhere I guess. We can’t keep him.”

“Greer will kill you,” the kid blusters, trying to sit up, John yanks him back again, without even looking. Gabriel thuds against the wall with a pained whimper. 

Shaw can only see Root’s jaw, not her face, though she can feel her body. She’s rigid with tension.

“Just... shut the fuck up, Gabriel,” Root sighs, leaning her head back against Shaw’s shoulder, “okay? Just shut the fuck up.”

John looks at Gabriel for a moment, shrugs, and slides an arm around his neck, putting him in a sleeper hold and Gabriel’s face slowly flushes, puffs up, and his eyes roll back as his feet judder against the van floor. John lets him go a little before Shaw has to kick him. 

Root just turns sideways and curls into Shaw’s neck, “I’m so tired,” she mumbles, and her breath is hot on Shaw’s skin, sending a shiver through her. 

She tries to settle back more comfortably, ignoring the hard surface making her bones ache already, “sleep, it’s okay. We’re here. You’re safe.” 

And Root nods against her neck, leaning against Shaw’s bent knee. 

A few minutes later, Zoe pushes on Shaw’s shoulder and gets her to lean forwards slightly, then stuffs a rolled up sweater behind her, easing the pressure bruising and winking at her. 

Shaw holds Root tight against her body and tries to cushion her from the bumps in the road, feeling hot and awkward being this affectionate in public, but not a single fibre of her willing to give up her hold on Root.    
  
In deference to their sleeping friend, the rest of the gang talk in murmurs, speculating about what could have happened, what went on in the building they found Root in, but Shaw tunes them out, overloaded and exhausted. She concentrates on the feel of Root pressed against her, legs bent over Shaw’s left thigh, hips snug between Shaw’s, shoulder pressed against Shaw’s collarbone. 

  
Her hair smells like apples, and something that defies description, a warm, golden smell that is only Root’s skin. Shaw tries to pretend she’s not nosing into Root’s hair, closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to see Zoe making ‘aww’ face or John looking desperately concerned. But she doesn’t sleep, can’t sleep, not yet. Not until she’s sure they’re safe. 


	31. All The Condoms and the Lube

Root wakes up when the van stops, and for a moment she forgets where she is, flails wildly, and then Shaw has her hands, is holding her still, looking at her with those flashing dark eyes and Root just  _ needs _ her, reaches up for her with her mouth.    
  
Shaw kisses her back, hard and desperate, and distantly Root hears people moving, then the door slams like everyone has maybe got out, but she’s busy pulling Shaw against her and they breathe in thick pants into each other’s mouths until a sob wells up in Root and she chokes on it. 

Shaw pulls back, breathing heavily, holds onto Root’s shoulder and hip like she might disappear if they stop touching, and then the door opens a crack, Zoe’s voice coming in, “guys, we’re at Walmart. We need to buy stuff. Do you wanna come in or should we just leave you alone?” 

Root manages a weak grin, wipes her suddenly damp face and pushes Shaw back a little, “go on.”

Shaw eyes her for a moment and then ducks her head, shuffling over to the door, muttering, “I hate shopping,” and making Root smile a little, which was probably the intention

They stumble out into the night, sore and stiff from a long drive. Walmart is glaringly, painfully bright in front of them, sprawling, and Root looks down at her feet, “I need shoes. And a first aid kit?”

“We took Gabriel’s shoes!” Zoe opens the door again and grabs a pair of sneakers, handing them to Root. “Just til we grab some more. And we three all need everything, we didn’t pack,” She waves at Joss and Shaw, “we had a mission to attend to. So boyos, you’re in charge of food and toiletries, okay? First aid, shampoo, conditioner... Romeo you have long hair, please don’t let everyone else make terrible life decisions I have to punch them for. Caleb, you seem like a clean person? You and Romeo do toiletries, Harry and John you do food okay? Fast though. Forty five minutes to meet at the checkout.”

“Uh, where  _ is _ Gabriel?” Root inquires, lifting her injured foot and looking at it, before stuffing it into Gabriel’s too big shoe, wondering if they’ll even let her in the store. She must look fucking terrible. Then she abruptly remembers the People of Walmart videos and snorts softly.

“We dumped him outside the city, ziptied and with a bunch of cocaine... because apparently your criminal friend here knows where we can get a large amount of cocaine and also cash at short notice. We called the cops off a payphone and left him there a couple of hours ago. Turns out he’s eighteen, so hopefully they throw the book at him, should give us a headstart anyway,” John says softly, “you were sleeping.” 

Root figures that probably her immediately kneeing Gabriel in the groin as soon as she saw him gave the others the information they needed, that regardless of age, Gabriel was bad news. 

“Talk after, we’re on a clock,” Joss announces, pushing Shaw gently in the direction of the building, “Romeo, you still good to fund us?”    


“I can’t think of a singular better use for my criminally gotten gains,” he replies, sauntering after her towards the store.

Zoe links arms with Root, Shaw glancing back at them, but Joss clearly wants her for something so Root just gives her a reassuring grin, the best she can manage anyway, and limps along with Zoe.

“Maybe we can put you in a trolley and push you like a baby?” Zoe suggests, slowing her pace in deference to Root’s aching body.

At least they can see that she’s physically not okay, she doesn’t even know how to begin to explain that it feels like a friend just died, that NOVA had tried to save her and was destroyed. That Root hadn’t been able to save them back. “Yes please,” Root mutters, picking her way across the carpark carefully. 

“Shoes and socks first, we’ll put the tags in the basket and you can put ‘em on, I doubt they’ll care with how much we’re about to spend,” Zoe proclaims, leading Root through the automatic doors into icy air conditioning, “god, I love shopping, this is going to be  _ great.  _ Romeo has like two grand with him! I’m going to spend it  _ all.  _ I've always wanted to be on  Supermarket Sweep. ”

The clock above the tills states it is four a.m. which explains why the place is so quiet, and while Joss and Shaw head straight into the clothing aisles, deep n conversation. Zoe takes control, cleaning Root’s feet off briefly with a wetwipe and then putting socks and shoes on her. Root’s numb and obedient, moving where she’s told and not really bothering to think about anything. A camera catches her eye and her chest gets tight, but Zoe’s hands tug her laces tight and then pull her upright.

“How’s that?” 

“Uh, better,” Root tests it out. It still hurts a little, but is improved immeasurably by the quick clean and the padding, and Root limps a lot less as they hasten after Shaw and Joss who are already filling their cart.

Root kinda just stands around while they pick stuff out, Shaw catching her eye every few seconds, like she’s checking Root’s still there, and just being able to see them all, see them be so normal makes a huge difference to the weight of panic and sadness that is slowly crumbling its way through her guts, and she leans her elbows on the bar of the cart, trying to remember to breathe.

The girls grab undies and socks, jeans and sweatpants, shirts and sweaters for everyone. Root wonders absently just how long they think they’re gonna be away for, and her eyes sting again as she considers the fact that all these people dropped everything to come and get her, and are now packing like they might never come back to their lives, all for her. 

Shaw slips up next to her, slides a warm hand under the hem of Root’s shirt, and strokes her thumb over the skin she finds. She doesn’t say anything, looks like she wants to but can’t make the words she’s looking for happen, but Root is pathetically grateful for the contact.

The moment’s broken by Zoe throwing a bra in the general direction of the cart and hitting Shaw in the shoulder, and they exchange a begrudgingly amused glance. Root pulls herself back to the present, tries to force herself not to spiral, and Zoe lobs another bra at her, which she manages to catch by one strap, holding it up and making a concerted effort to engage, “hmmm, cute, but I don’t think it’ll fit me,” she flicks the D cup with her free hand and Zoe waves a hand at her.

“Stop touching my bra when it doesn’t even have my boobs in it, unfair!” 

Joss wanders back to the cart with armfuls of soft cotton tshirts in packs, and pokes through the piles for a second, “I think we have everything? Maybe,” she sounds a little doubtful.

Shaw shrugs a shoulder, “It’s a two hour drive to the nearest store from the cabin, not the end of the world. And Tomas has stuff there anyway, usually. We can borrow.”

Tomas? Root doesn’t have the energy to question it right now, so she settles for hoping that Tomas at least won’t be there, and Shaw scratches her back lightly before moving away and pushing the cart forwards. 

“Alright, good enough!” Zoe chirps, linking arms with Root again and bustling them down towards the checkout. She grabs random stuff on the way, it seems like whatever catches her eye, and Root would be entertained if she wasn’t so drained. 

A huge sheet of chewing gum, some speakers, a pack of jerky, some dish sponges all go into the cart. Zoe holds the last item up thoughtfully, “what are the chances the boys remembered tampons? Who’s due? Is anyone due?” 

“I don’t even want to know how your brain went from dish sponges to tampons, but good point,” Shaw grumbles, “I’ll jog over, meet you in the queue.” 

Joss takes over pushing and Zoe adds an enormous packet of condoms to the cart from the display by the checkout, waggling her eyebrows at Root, who raises one in question.

“What, Romeo’s cute!” She declares innocently, and Root finally summons the energy to giggle. 

“Is he... one hundred condoms cute?” She enquires, and Zoe smirks.

“Well, we might need them to like, carry water or something? Balloon animals. It’s better to be prepared.”

Shaw bustles back with a couple of boxes of tampons and a huge squirty bottle of KY, and Root laughs properly this time, pointing at the condoms and then the lube, “we look so classy right now. All the clothes in the world, oh, and the food,” she adds as Harold and John pull up behind them, “but more importantly the condoms and the lube.” 

“Well I’m not sharing, so if anyone else needs lube they should grab some,” Shaw looks up at Root from under her eyelashes, it’s warm and familiar, and Root has to resist the abrupt urge to muscle her against the shelves stocked with candy bars behind her. It’s a good feeling, helps drive out some of the squirm in her guts. She grabs a couple of chocolatey-looking things instead as they go up to the till. 

Romeo and Caleb are already through, a cart full of bags waiting next to them. Romeo sidles over and slips his bulging wallet to Root as they go through the cashier, helping to bag stuff up, and then Root passes the wallet back to Finch as he and John heave their packed foodstuff cart through the till area.

When they get back to the van, Romeo reveals that his cart also contains self-inflating roll up camp mattresses, and they transform the back of the van into something more comfortable using them. Root climbs into the front seat of the van while the others sort out how to fit the shopping in the back, too weary to do anything useful. 

She must doze off, because the next thing she knows, the door is open and somehow Bear is climbing up onto her lap, Shaw hovering behind him looking undeniably smug. 

“Hey, buddy,” Root scruffs his ears, and he pants his doggy breath in her face until she buries her cheek against his neck, on the verge of tears again. Her heart hurts.

“He couldn’t come to rescue you ‘cause he’s not trained for that shit and he’s a dog so unlike those guys he couldn’t consent, but Harper brought him to meet us.”   
  
“Hey, Root!” Harper bounces up next to Shaw, grinning. Root drags her face out of Bear’s warm fur at the sound of her voice.

“Hey, Harper,” it’s kind of sniffly, but passable.

“I know you’re all super secret right now, but I brought you an ounce and a dog as my contribution to whatever mystery is going on, and I expect a really good story when you’re all back in town, okay? And you better not be more than two weeks ‘cause otherwise we’ll be out of the playoffs, there’s no way we can beat HRU without you four,” she shoulder checks Shaw, who nods.

“Yeah, we know. This is more important anyway, but we know. We’re figuring it out, okay? I’ll be in touch.” 

“Gotcha, buddy,” Harper does some finger guns at them both and wanders around the side of the van, presumably to say hey to the others. 

Shaw climbs in next to Root and Bear, slides her hand across Root’s where she has it embedded in his neck fur.

“Whole team’s here now,” Shaw says, putting one foot up on the dash and ducking her head to look in the side mirror, then waving as Harper heads away from the van.

Joss jumps into the driver’s seat and grins at them, “ready to rock?”   
  
“Definitely,” Root mumbles, leaning her head back, Bear a warm weight half on her lap, Shaw’s hand just touching hers on his back.

The back door slams, and Joss puts the van into gear, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the highway.   
  
Dawn starts to lighten the horizon as the miles roll away under the wheels, the three of them sat in silence until Root drifts off again.


	32. Come to Bed With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning** emotions, inner turmoil, a bit angsty? Read in safe emotional space! Sorry to anyone who read this pre-warning and wasn't okay I feel Terrible for upsetting you!!  <3

When they pull over at a rest stop, Bear gets out to pee, and Root somehow migrates sideways on the bench seat without waking up, so Shaw wriggles her thighs underneath Root’s head and growls at Zoe before she can say anything when she gets in to take her turn in the driver’s seat.

Zoe just grins at her, and hits the gas. It’s another hour before they hit the turnoff. The road up to the cabin is long and deserted, Finch and Caleb hop out to set up some cameras and mikes to keep an eye on the road, unfortunately they can’t get too far from the house without cables, but there’s already a surveillance camera pointed at the end of the driveway, and Shaw hasn’t seen anyone behind them for a while. 

She’s pretty confident they haven’t been followed, hopeful that there’s no way to tie them to this place, and the boys seemed to have plenty of plans in place for making sure they’re totally off the grid. Nothing she can do about it, anyway. 

Root doesn’t want to wake up, is deep under, the kind of sleep that’s hard to break. Shaw tries to shake her, and then gives a mental shrug, wiggles out of the van and drags Root after her, lifting her out of the vehicle and plodding towards the cabin with Root’s limp body in her arms. 

Joss jogs after them with the keys, thank goodness, because Shaw had definitely not thought that far ahead, and while the others unload, Shaw carries Root into the wooden cabin.

It’s wide, one story, but four bedrooms, a living space, kitchen and a basement set up with bunkbeds to maximise the sleeping options. The whole thing is Microsoft rustic, with high tech equipment and alarm systems that she has to disable. Root doesn’t even stir when Shaw hastens into the only bedroom with an en-suite and deposits her on the bed. 

She jogs back to the door, types in the alarm codes with seconds to spare, and then runs out of ideas and kind of grinds to a halt.

Zoe bustles past her, laden with bags, heading right for the kitchen, “toothbrushes and jammies,” she declares, and Shaw nods, getting back with it.

“Right, yeah. Where are they?” She looks at her watch. It’s eight a.m, and she feels a bit like she’s been run over.

“More stressful than the normal kind of all-nighters, eh?” Zoe passes her toothpaste, two toothbrushes and a handful of cotton shorts and tees, “go on, we’ve got it.”

Shaw dithers for a moment, makes what she’s sure is an embarrassing face, and then ducks and heads to the bedroom. 

Root’s splayed out in the exact position Shaw put her in, on her back with one arm curled up over the pillow, her legs bent to the side. She’s wearing jeans and a button-up, hers, which means she’s been in the same outfit for two and a half days. 

She barely stirs when Shaw unbuttons her jeans, pulls them off as carefully as she can, and pauses with them halfway down Root’s legs, wondering when she became so comfortable with another human being that she would even think about taking their pants off for comfort, let alone do it. She shakes the thought away and relieves Root of her jeans, shirt and bra, leaving her in her panties and carefully maneuvering her under the covers. 

She leaves her there, needing to take a minute for herself, and ends up sitting on the toilet feeling really weird but not being able to figure out what kind of weird it is, just kind of blank and uncomfortable in her skin. Usually if she feels like this she goes and does something, exercise, get in a fight, drink a bottle of whisky or all of the above, but she can’t even make herself shut the door to the bedroom right now. 

Eventually she strips off and gets in the hottest shower she can physically stand, letting the water sting and burn until she’s breathing properly again. She stays in the shower until the hot water runs out, even though that’s an asshole move with a house full of people, she doesn’t give a fuck. She brushes her teeth naked, scalded pink by the shower, hair wet and curling down her shoulders. Her reflection looks like a stranger. 

She’s exhausted, physically and emotionally, and while part of her wants nothing more than to get into bed with Root, she doesn’t think she can be still, and she knows she won’t be able to sleep. So she pulls her clothes back on instead of jammies, and heads into the main house, feeling like a string is tying her to the bedroom and just... needing to pull against it. Her stomach is upset and her head aches determinedly. 

Zoe’s putting away groceries, Caleb and Finch are once again hunched over their computers—although they’re sat at a table this time which has to be an improvement for their backs—Joss is organising the rest of the shopping into little piles and Romeo is splayed out on the sofa, his arm over his face. 

“Shaw?” Zoe asks, emerging from a cupboard where she’s stacking tins.

“I need to... go outside,” Shaw manages to say, after a moment.

“I’ll sit with Root,” Zoe says immediately, not even missing a beat, and Shaw doesn’t really know how to say thank you, so she nods instead, heading for the door. 

The air outside is warming already, it’s shaping up to be a really nice day, and the sun winks at her from behind the leafy trees. The cabin is on it’s own path, but there are trails winding into the mountains from it, and Shaw veers off onto one she knows, just walking with no plan. She forces herself into a jog once she’s out of the muddy flat section, and runs til her lungs are burning instead of her stomach. 

When she stumbles back in through the front door, everything is tidily away, and there’s a pile of clothes outside the bedroom she picked. No one is anywhere in sight, she assumes they must have all found somewhere to crash, and she finally feels like she can follow suit. 

Zoe is sitting on the window seat in Root’s room, her knees up and her head against the window, half-asleep. Shaw coming in wakes her up, but she doesn’t say anything, just gives her a smile and sneaks out of the room. 

Shaw has to take another, albeit short and cold shower before she’s decent enough to get in the bed. Sprinting for four kilometers up and down a hill without deodorant on was not her finest plan, but fortunately there’s some in the pile of stuff, so it looks like the boys didn’t totally let the team down in the toiletries department. 

She slides into bed, and Root curls towards her immediately, reaching out with one hand and mumbling something entirely incoherent into Shaw’s neck when Shaw turns to face her, letting Root burrow into her chest. 

The events of the past couple of days fade into fuzzy static as she settles her hand over Root’s hip and lets sleep yank her out of her head.


	33. They Don't Know What's To Come (well, they have some ideas but they ain't plot related)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning** : emo trauma processing continues. A bit of minor shagging. 
> 
> Since I wrote the chapter 'fuck me like one of your french girls' I have literally wanted to make that same joke every single chapter, jsc, it's all I can think of, why brain. So the subtitle for this is 'bathe me like one of your kidnapped girls'.

Root wakes up slowly, like she’s swimming to the surface of a deep, placid lake. Strings of dreams tug at her, trying to hold her under, but she desperately needs to pee and that urge outweighs the fog trying to hold her to the mattress. 

She struggles out of the bed, feeling swampy and confused. Shaw makes a noise of complaint, and rolls over to face Root, blinking her eyes open sleepily, “you okay?” her voice is raspy and raw from sleep, and Root’s whole body leans towards the sound of it, physically sways in without conscious thought.

She drags her eyes away from Shaw’s sleep-soft face, staring at the blue carpet instead, “I have to pee,” if Shaw notices that Root avoids the question, she doesn’t remark on it, and Root pees with the door half-open, brushes her teeth and then crawls back into the bed and curls on her side, facing Shaw but not touching or even looking. She feels sad and small and hollow.

Shaw slides her hand over Root’s hip, tugs demandingly until Root wriggles closer, lays her head on Shaw’s chest and finally relaxes against her as Shaw’s body warmth seeps into her chilled skin. 

Fingers stroke idle patterns on her lower back and Root closes her eyes, trying to hold back the sob that builds up in her throat again, the gentle touch somehow almost too intense for the cold ache that’s replaced Root’s intestines.

Shaw just pets her, noses into her hair, and Root takes a big shuddering breath, trying not to break down.

“It’s okay, Root. You can cry on me, I don’t mind,” Shaw mutters, an edge of discomfort in her voice but her body is calm and soft under Root, there’s no tension in her. “And... you don’t have to tell me, but I’d like to know, when you’re ready.”

Root sniffs wetly and presses her mouth against Shaw’s collarbone, wanting to be closer somehow. To say thank you—for what she’s not sure, too many things to vocalize. The contact results in a shiver and goosebumps rise down Shaw’s arm, Root can feel them prickling soft against her skin. Shaw shifts uncomfortably, and Root presses in, just wanting to feel Shaw against her, to be here with her, and Shaw lets out a little whimpering sound as Root slides her hand around the side of Shaw’s neck, pulling her closer.

Shaw shifts a little, turning to face Root, wriggling down, and then they’re kissing, wet and slow, pressing against each other with their whole bodies.

Root slides her hand under Shaw’s shirt at the back, feeling the warmth of her skin burning into her palm, like she’s pulling energy into herself, driving out the cold and the ache. Shaw moans into her mouth as Root crawls on top of her, pushing her back into the pillows and sliding her knee between Shaw’s muscular thighs. 

Root pushes Shaw’s soft cotton shirt up, scratching the skin she reveals with blunt nails, not hard, just teasing, feeling, remembering her. Shaw’s breathing hitches and she arches into Root’s hands, and Root presses down, curving her hands around her ribcage and feeling the sway of her breathing moving the bones. 

Shaw breathes her name out so softly Root barely hears it, but it sends tingles buzzing through her to pool between her legs, waking her body up more effectively than any caffeine, replacing the lethargy in her limbs with energy. 

She grinds down against Shaw, pushing her legs open, bearing down on her thigh and Shaw gasps and tips her head back, exposing her neck. 

Root leans down to explore the new territory with her mouth, nipping and sucking, digging her teeth into Shaw’s thick trapezius and feeling the body under her shudder and arch. 

“Root, fuck, Root,” Shaw hums, pushing her hands up and grabbing the top of the headboard, Root pulls away from her neck long enough to butt her face against the bulging muscles of Shaw’s bicep, rubbing against her like a cat. 

She works her hand down between them, wanting to feel Shaw very, very badly, and Shaw inhales and tenses as Root slips below her waistband, her fingers finding slick heat waiting for her. She presses in hard, moving up to suck the moan off Shaw’s lips and pulling back to watch her face, eyes closed and lip caught between her teeth as Root thrusts into her.

Warm, tight muscles welcome her fingers, Shaw arches and pushes closer, her arms flexing and pulling the headboard away from the wall a little. Root pulls out, circles around her clit and pushes down and in again, sliding easily into a rhythm that makes Shaw shudder and pant under her until she stops breathing altogether as Root bites at her nipple through her shirt and then she’s coming on Root’s fingers, clenching and trying to stifle a choking cry in her own bicep. 

Root eases her through it, lost in the feeling of Shaw hot and clinging to her, and as the smaller girl relaxes back into the pillows she flutters her eyes open, licking her lips and looking at Root like she wants to eat her.

That seems like a great idea to Root. About to wriggle up and sit on Shaw's face, Root abruptly remembers she needs to shower, badly, and pulls back and out with a groan. Shaw leans up for a moment, chasing the closeness, then blinks her eyes open when she realises Root’s not coming back.

“I’m gross,” Root mutters, wriggling up so she’s sat on Shaw’s right thigh, crossing her arms over her chest, feeling the ache and pull reasserting itself, the one that seems to live in her muscles since the needles.

Shaw’s mouth works for a moment like she’s not sure what to say, and Root rolls off her, trying to get her breathing under control, suddenly needing space.

“There’s jets in the bath,” Shaw says, after a long pause, turning her head to look at Root. There’s a flush in her cheeks, and her nipples are still hard under her thin shirt, her breathing a little laboured.

“Is that an offer to bathe me, or should I meet you back here?” Root murmurs, sliding into a sitting position and swinging her feet out of the bed.

Shaw shrugs, “depends, will you fuck me in the bath?” There’s a teasing expression lurking at the corner of her mouth, and Root snorts, heading into the bathroom and leaving the door open. She turns the taps on to fill the bath and pops her head around the door when Shaw doesn’t immediately follow.

“You coming?” 

Shaw grins and slides out of bed, padding into the bathroom and stripping her jammies off with alacrity, “just did, but I could stand another,” she quips, and Root experiences a rush of affection so great she almost staggers with it, dropping her head and turning to concentrate on the bath to give herself a second to get under control again.

Shaw just squats down and gropes under the sink, emerging with some Epsom salts and a lavender bubble bath liquid, both of which she tips a generous amount of into the huge tub.

She’s obviously familiar with the space, and Root has a momentary flash of jealousy before Shaw slides into the bath, turning the taps off and opening her legs, clearly intending Root to sit between them and lean against her. 

Root’s muscles are so sore that she thinks she probably couldn’t have Shaw lean up against her anyway, so she gets in without protest, letting the heat of the water flow into her bones. Shaw runs her hands gently all over Root, petting her under the surface, indulging in her skin or cleaning her off, Root can’t really tell.

She relaxes slowly, Shaw’s hands kinda turning into more of a light massage than a bath, and she hums in pleasure, leaning her head back against Shaw’s shoulder and idly remembering the time after she got shot when Shaw washed her hair for her and they ended up fucking in the tub. 

Shaw lifts her arm, rubbing down the forearm muscles before Root realises what’s happening, and she can’t help but flinch when Shaw touches the inside of her elbow, jerking away and snapping back to the needles pushing into her veins with such vivid clarity her breath freezes in her throat. 

“Root?” Shaw asks carefully, sliding her hand back down to Root’s wrist and holding her gently, her other hand resting on Root’s stomach.

She can’t answer, she thinks she might be having a panic attack, the air won’t come, and Shaw says her name again, sounding worried.

“Root, breathe, Root. Look at me, look at me, you’re okay,” Shaw shifts them so she can look into Root’s face, worry streaked across her features, she cradles Root’s head with one hand, holding eye contact, her eyes huge and concerned, “come back, you’re okay, you’re okay.” 

Root finally manages to take a huge, shuddering inhale, the elastic band around her sternum releasing, and then tears just flood out after it, punching her in the guts and doubling her over.

Shaw just holds her and lets her cry, the tears mixing with the water damp against Shaw’s neck as Root buries her face in it and breathes in massive, broken gasps. She’s not even sure why she’s crying, for shock, for pain, for NOVA, for fear of what’s going to happen. 

They stay in the bath until the water’s cooled and Root’s completely cried out, and then Shaw urges her upright, dries her off like a child and leads her back to the bed. 

She puts Root in, and then pulls her shorts and shirt back on and leaves the room, making Root curl up on her side thinking that she’s pushed Shaw too far, needed too much, but the sound of footsteps behind her make her look, and Shaw comes through the door balancing a computer in one hand and two bottles of gatorade in the other. 

Behind her, Zoe hovers, hands full of plates, and Shaw drops the computer off on the bed before going back to the door and taking them, exchanging some quiet words with Zoe and then shutting the door. 

Root lets herself be manhandled into a sitting position, obediently takes the gatorade but doesn’t drink it until Shaw huffs in mild annoyance and opens it for her, pushing it towards her mouth. 

While she drinks, Shaw sets up the laptop and the familiar theme tune of Buffy starts blaring from the speakers. Shaw hands her a plate of toast, wriggles into the bed next to her and props the laptop up on her lap, resting her shoulder against Root in silent comfort.   
  
After finishing her toast and half her gatorade, Root curls up under Shaw’s arm and hooks her hand around her hip, letting the episode take her away from herself. Just for a little while.


	34. Filling In The Gang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning** exposition

When the episode ends, Root feels a little more under control, and she knows it has to be time to catch everyone up. They must be going out of their heads waiting for her, giving her this space. They risked their lives for her and they deserve the answers that she has. She can’t hide in the bedroom with Shaw forever, as nice as that sounds.

She looks up at Shaw, who flicks her eyes down and hits the spacebar, her eyebrow twitching in question.

Root nods, feeling like Shaw will understand what she means, and pulls herself up, pressing her face against Shaw’s cheekbone. Shaw leans into her, and Root realises since Shaw came for her they’ve been sharing a lot of non-sexual physical contact. Not just small touches and light gestures with the occasional 'there’s isn’t enough space, it's Zoe's fault' squish together. This is full-on-pressed-togetherness, and she wonders if their bodies need to remember, as well as their heads, that they are in the same place.

She aches still, a deep, numbing pain that feels like it’s settled into her bones, but she doesn’t know if it’s physical—a result of the injections—or psychosomatic. It doesn’t really matter, though. It all hurts regardless. 

“Painkillers?” She asks, heaving herself into a sitting position, bending her knees and curling her hands over them.

“Herbal or chemical?” Shaw inquires, sliding off the bed and heading for a bag on the floor.

Root huffs a light laugh, suddenly wanting to get high very, very badly, “tylenol and ibuprofen for now, but later... After...” 

Shaw nods, understanding, and rummages until she finds pill bottles, shaking two of each out into her hand and bringing them over with another bottle of gatorade. 

Root downs the whole thing thirstily, and stretches her neck out.

“Want me to ... gather everyone?” Shaw smooths her thumb across Root’s bare shoulder and Root nods, looking at her own hands around the bottle. Her knuckles are still stained with greenish bruising, she’d almost forgotten what with everything that happened since. It feels like weeks have passed, but it’s only been five days. The confused time sensation is dislocating to her sense of self.

“Yeah. I’ll be out in a minute?” She feels like she could use a second alone, to breathe, and Shaw nods, squeezes her shoulder and pads out into the main living area of the cabin. 

Root hears doors opening and low voices, but she just kinda stays sitting on the bed, trying to summon the energy to move. 

By the time she makes it to the living room, having pulled on sweats and a hoodie, everyone else is already there. Caleb, Romeo and Zoe are on the sofa, Harold and John are sharing the loveseat, Joss is perched on the windowsill with a steaming cup in her hands, and Shaw is sat on the floor leaning by an empty armchair, next to the coffee table, which is covered in papers and laptops. 

The conversations all stop when she walks it, and she feels uncomfortable and exposed until Shaw pats the armchair behind her and Joss says, “I made tea, you want some?” 

“Yeah, that’d be good, thanks,” Root murmurs, settling into the armchair and leaning her knee against Shaw’s shoulder.

When her tea arrives, she curls her fingers around it, looking down at the creamy brown liquid. The others are clearly trying not to pressure her, but Harold looks a lot like he’s desperate to say something, and Root thinks if she doesn’t get her side of the story out now she never will, so she takes a deep breath, “I got back from the library, and someone knocked on my door...”

She doesn’t really look at anyone while she tells them what happened, Shaw wraps her hand around Root’s ankle, and they just let her talk. When she starts to explain what Control did, Shaw carefully lets go of her and when Root glances down she sees that Shaw’s hands are in fists, and her face is hard. She pokes her toe under Shaw’s bum, trying to get her to relax a little, and keeps going, pushing past the emotions the memory brings up in her, sticking to the facts and determinedly ignoring the shake in her voice.

The stuff about NOVA doesn’t seem like it’s news to them, and Harold is literally biting his lip to contain himself, and when Root finally finishes speaking he’s off the chair before anyone else has had time to speak, jabbing his finger at the papers on the desk, “look, it all makes sense now! SAMARITAN and my Machine merged!”

“...Your machine?” Root drops her half-full mug in shock, and somehow Shaw manages to catch it before it hits the ground, only slopping a little liquid over the side. Shaw looks at her hands, and up at Root, and then back at her hands, then carefully sets the mug down on the coffee table.

“Not to veer too far from topic but holy crap that was cool!” Zoe enthuses, waving a hand at Shaw, “you’re like that sparkly vampire but not as gay!”

Harold looks at Zoe, his mouth working like he’s trying to articulate something, and then he just rolls his eyes and leans forward to pass Root a pile of papers from the table. She grabs them. The top of every page says S.A.M.A.R.I.T.A.N, there are dozens of sections highlighted in bright yellow and as she flicks through the pages she sees tell tale notes of Harold’s syntax, stuff she wouldn’t have recognised if he hadn’t already told her he created the other machine. The one that SAMARITAN merged with, becoming NOVA. 

She makes sense of the pages as fast as she can, ignoring the room, and when she looks up everyone is watching her expectantly except Romeo, who's fiddling with some wire, like he always does when he’s nervous or not sure what to do with himself. A tiny spark of hope uncurls in her stomach, a flickering feeling of 'maybe, maybe'. The papers could hold the key to rebuilding NOVA, to finding the bits of Them scattered around the internet. A cross between a guide and a map.

Harold looks like a deer in the headlights, he’s watching her with this wide-eyed expression like she might be about to beat him to death with the sheaf of code she’s holding, and it almost, almost makes her laugh, “well, uh, thanks for creating something with exacting moral standards, I guess? I’m pretty sure I’d be dead if she.. They hadn’t tried to save me.” 

She’s not completely clear on the timeline, but it seems to her as though before meeting Harold’s machine, SAMARITAN was acting out of self-preservation more than anything else, deleting the discoveries she made was part of how It was hiding Itself. The steps taken to actually protect _Root_ were only post-machine, she thinks. It’s confusing, and her heart aches for what could have been, the connection she had found with NOVA. Her hands are gripping the papers so tightly they're crinkled and she notices, deliberately releasing her grip and trying to smooth them. 

And then a phone starts ringing.

Romeo nearly falls off the sofa as he tries to pull his cell out of his pocket, and Caleb flails at him, “I told you to turn that off!”

Romeo throws the phone at Caleb, “I did!” 

Caleb catches it just as the phone stops ringing, and then it immediately goes again, jangling. He frowns at it, then turns the screen to face the room, “Uh.. Control wants to facetime.”


	35. Did Romeo Swipe Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stole this chapter name from Gn0sis's comment! SHAMELESS.

“I turned it off!” Romeo looks a little wild-eyed, scanning the room.

Caleb’s holding the phone like it’s on fire, "what do I do?"

“Give it to me,” Harold calls, and John darts across the room to grab it, jogging it back to Harold who swiftly connects it to his computer and starts typing. 

Shaw looks up at Root, who’s frozen in the chair. Her insides squeeze with pressure at the look on Root's face, she doesn’t know what to do. Then Harold nods, white-faced, holding the phone which is ringing again after a second silence, “I’m spoofing our location, should we answer?” 

Before anyone replies, the phone darkens and then Control’s face appears, her voice squeaking quietly out of the speakers. With a trembling hand, Finch reaches forward and presses the speakerphone button.

“Christ, Groves, I go to all the trouble of tracking down your criminal friend there and you won’t even pick up the phone?” Her voice is dripping sarcasm, and Shaw is on her feet before she realises it, glowering at the device which Harold has almost dropped in shock, pointing it awkwardly at the ceiling, unable to move it further because it’s plugged into his laptop still. 

It appears Control can just about see Shaw looming over the phone, because the angled screen shows her raising an eyebrow, “ooh, goodie. The muscle. Calm down, Cujo, I come in peace.”

Shaw growls, keeping herself between the phone and Root, who’s still in the chair, and when Shaw glances back to check on her her face is drawn and tight, “come in peace for what? Haven’t you done enough?” Her voice sounds faintly strangled with rage, with the urge to smash, but breaking the phone isn’t going to help anything, and if Control could track and hack Romeo’s phone, there’s no reason she couldn’t do it with anyone else’s if Shaw broke this one. Her knuckles creak, and her body trembles in the wake of a huge spike of adrenaline demanding that she _do something_.

Control waves a hand, and Harold slowly turns the phone so it’s actually facing Shaw, looking mighty unsure of himself. Shaw glowers at the screen, she can see herself in the bottom right corner, and her face looks like she’s about to tear someone’s throat out with her teeth. 

“The kind of peace that gets you all off the various hooks you’ve hung yourselves on, with a few, minor stipulations.” Control sounds unbearably smug, and Shaw actually feels the blood surge through her body, the world fuzzing weirdly gray in her vision, and then suddenly there’s a warm hand on her back and the tension swirls and drains, her muscles relaxing and her view of the room returns to normal, although everything looks sharp and uncomfortable, like the contrast's been turned up.

“Terms?” Root’s voice is low and hard, Shaw doesn’t know how she’s pulled herself together this fast, but she’s glad for it, to pass over the responsibility of speaking and thinking and just support Root instead. Shaw only makes certain kinds of decisions well under pressure, where to move, where to hit, when to run. This non-physical game where she doesn’t hold enough of the cards makes her feel sick with anger. 

She shifts a little, so Root can see the screen if she wants, but keeps herself between Control and Root, as though the woman might burst out of the screen at any minute. Romeo is by the door, looking out of the window, she notices, good call, in case this is a distraction. 

“You might have realised by now that I don’t really work for the university. I work for the government. We were running a pilot program at SFU, which is being dismantled as we speak. We’ve taken Greer and Gabriel into custody for their transgressions against the program mandate, you’ll never hear from them again, I can promise you that. Give us a week to clean up the messes you left behind and you can return to campus, finish your degrees like nothing ever happened.” Control leans her elbow on the desk, twitches an eyebrow.

“And in exchange for all these... favours?” The cold note in Root’s voice makes Shaw’s spine stiffen.

“You and your friend, Mr Finch, will come and meet with us in regards to starting a new program, using what data we have recovered from the SAMARITAN systems, allow us a chance to persuade you that working for us is in your best interests. A meeting, that’s all.”

“How do we know that’s all?” Shaw breaks in, “how do we know you’re not going to kidnap them and disappear them and we’ll never see them again?”

Control sighs, “well, considering we could easily come to your ex-boyfriend’s cabin and ‘disappear’ you all this evening, I’d say you’re a little short on options. I’ll see you in a week, Groves.” She disconnects the call, and Shaw twitches, stressed and tense.

Root brushes her fingers over Shaw’s shoulder, and then slowly walks back to the chair, steepling her fingers, “I’m sorry I got you all mixed up in this,” she says in a low voice, and the room shifts uncomfortably.

“I rather think I mixed myself up in it, Root,” Harold points out, leaning back on the sofa with tension clearly visible around his mouth, “you’re hardly to blame for the assumptions they made.”

"And whatever Harold's in, I'm in," John adds.

"We're family," Caleb shrugs a shoulder, collapsing back on the sofa next to Romeo who nudges their shoulders together and nods.

Shaw shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, wanting to say something but not knowing what, not knowing how to explain to Root that whatever she is in, Shaw is in, by unavoidable fact.

Zoe chews her lip for a second, “the deal didn’t sound so bad, did it? And.. I mean, they clearly know where we are. We did our very best escape and evade, and they found us in a day. A meeting can’t be too scary, we’ll all know where you are and what you’re doing. It wouldn’t make any sense for them to hurt you.”

Romeo’s phone pings again, and Shaw reaches out for it, clicking the unlock button when she takes it, “uh... this is... your Master's degree,” she looks over at Root, “and a video?”

She pads over with the phone, holding it out for Root. Zoe races over and Joss joins her on the other side of the chair before Root tentatively reaches out and presses the play button. On the video, Gabriel appears, being dragged down a hallway in a fetching, bright orange jumpsuit. There are tear stains on his face and his hair is dishevelled. A moment later the video switches, and Greer appears, calm-faced as ever, and manacled to a table with shiny silver restraints, wearing a beige jumpsuit. 

Root hits pause, grabs Shaw’s hip and pulls her close enough that she can lean her head against Shaw’s hipbone. 

Zoe sniffs, gently tugs on Root’s hair, “look, I don’t know what we’re supposed to do if we don’t trust her?”

***

It doesn’t seem like they have a lot of options. No one wants to burn their whole lives on the off chance that Control is lying, and after about an hour of circular discussion, they agree to try and put some safety measures in place before Harold and Root go to meet with Control, but to take what she said at face value for now. Harold, Caleb and Root put together some files in a deaddrop system that will get delivered to Sergeant Elias, as well as the F.B.I and some media outlets if they don't check in on it at pre-established intervals. Joss and John scrounge together some food, and then they’re all sort of looking around aimlessly like no one has any idea what to do next.

Zoe snorts, sliding off the arm of Root’s chair where she’s spent the last forty minutes, “well, if that’s decided, I don’t know about you guys but I am going to roll a joint as long as my arm and get very, very stoned on the trampoline.”


	36. There is Trampoline Precedent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alt title: bake me like one of your circus girls
> 
>  **content warning** drinking, marijuana, mild exhibitionism but nothing past 1st base (I think, I never understood the bases, if anyone wants to clear that up for me?), references to fisting

Everyone kind of looks at each other for a minute, and then Root shrugs, “I’m in. If they’re about to come running in with guns a blazing, I’d rather be so fucked I don’t care.” 

Zoe snickers, and starts rummaging in a small bag on the coffee table, grabbing papers and starting a huge build that makes John look forward with his eyebrows raised, “no offence, but that looks physically impossible to smoke.”

“You doubt my skills, sir? A foolish move!” Zoe’s nimble fingers race up and down the spliff and after a few minutes she holds it up triumphantly. It lasts a heartbeat and then the weight of the end starts dragging at it, making a bend near the filter. Zoe huffs and carefully straightens it, putting it on the table with an expression of pure love, “okay, so it’s a two hand job, whatever.”

“Who wants beer?” Joss asks, heading for the kitchen, and Shaw unfolds herself from the floor, “yeah, grab me one,” she wanders over to grab her hoodie from the door hooks and pulls it on.

Everyone else wriggles out of their seats and Root pads after Shaw, brushing her hand over Shaw’s shoulder as she reaches past to get a jacket. Shaw looks at her from under her eyelashes and licks her lips, deliberately, trying to entice Root out of the drama of the situation and into relaxing. 

Root looks at her like she knows what she’s doing, but her lips twitch into a faint smile and her eyebrow jumps briefly in response. Shaw feels a little flutter of pleasure in her stomach, like she’s done the right thing, and she nudges her shoulder against Root’s as she leans down and yanks her shoes on. 

The sharp pinch to the top of her thigh makes her yelp under her breath, and now Root’s actually smiling properly. 

Zoe barges over and carefully hands the spliff over to Shaw so she can put her shoes on, and Root opens the door, then John and Joss take her spot as Shaw follows Root out into the evening air. 

It’s cool outside, the moon is just visible—a sharp silver slice out of a cobalt sky. The trees surrounding the cabin reach up into the night in thick black shadows, encircling the flattened area holding a small patio, some large sideways logs circled around a firepit and best of all, the trampoline. 

Shaw’s only been up to the cabin three times, but the last time they’d stayed for two weeks in the middle of summer, her and Tomas, Zoe, Harold and John and two of Tomas’ friends. Joss had been busy with a summer internship and hadn’t been able to make it. 

It has been a good couple of weeks. She hadn’t even punched Tomas’ best friend for enquiring why she didn’t share a room with Tomas. She smiles at the memory of Zoe telling the guy it was ‘cause Shaw was saving herself for marriage. 

Root looks over her shoulder, and Shaw realises she’d stopped walking to look around, and rolls her eyes, jogging two steps to catch up and then sliding past. She kicks her shoes off and hops up onto the trampoline, bouncing twice and settling into a cross-legged position. Root snickers and follows suit, then Zoe trundles out with her arms full of blankets which she carefully balances on a log before climbing after them. 

Joss and John have a six pack each, and Caleb has his hands full of chip packets as he comes out with Romeo, who shuts the cabin door behind him. 

It takes a little arrangement, but everyone fits on the trampoline, Shaw ends up with Root’s toes wedged under her thigh and she leans down on them, bouncing a little in place. 

The joint gets lit, and beers are passed around, the group seems to have come to a silent decision not to discuss anything serious any further. 

John lies down with his head on Harold’s knees and starts pointing out the constellations, Zoe puts her head on John’s thigh and joins in, but plays the game where you just make the silliest pictures possible. 

Shaw is happy to just sit quietly, smoke, and listen to her friends being huge dorks, and it seems like Root is too. 

After Zoe turns Orion into a bear orgy (hairy gay men, not the animal) Shaw gets bored of that activity, buzzing now and wanting to do something. She rolls smoothly to her feet, “it’s bouncing time, you have thirty seconds to clear the field,” she yells, doing a preparatory bounce and almost landing on Zoe’s foot, but Joss drags her out the way in the nick of time. 

Zoe bounces to her feet, a bottle of beer loosely clutched in one hand, squaring up to Shaw while the rest of the team scramble to clear off the trampoline, Harold desperately trying not to drop the second half of the joint.

“Wanna play crack the egg?” Zoe bounds upwards, tucks her knees and lands on her bum before bouncing back to her feet, spilling her beer and then throwing the bottle overboard, giggling as Shaw almost falls. 

“I am uncrackable,” Shaw declares, dropping down and balling up into ‘egg’ position. 

Zoe bounces a few times and then calls out to the rest of the group, “who is helping?” To which John and Joss clamber back up and take up positions equidistant around Shaw’s crouched form. The aim of the game is bounce hard enough that Shaw tumbles sideways instead of landing on her lower legs and forearms, but she’s well braced, and the first few enormous bounces go easily without upsetting her. Then John and Joss team up on one side of her, and get in time with each other so their bounces have double the strength. 

They’re all laughing hysterically by the time Shaw can’t keep her bounce-balance any more and lands on her back.

Joss manages to beat Shaw’s time quite handily, but Zoe cracks in like four seconds, and when John drops down Shaw bounces to the edge to grab reinforcements, “John is too fat, come help!”

“I am not fat!” John declares indignantly, and Shaw snickers.

“In the head, obviously,” She leans down to grab Root’s hand and Root obligingly clambers onto the trampoline, wobbling a little.

“I am definitely going to fall over,” Root points out and Shaw grins up at her, pleased that Root is joining in regardless of her trampolining skill set. 

“Just don’t bounce off the edge, but if you do try to land on one of the bystanders, they’re softer,” she instructs, tugging Root into position and letting go of her hand. 

“Three, two, one, go!” She yells and jumps in the air, landing a bit out of sync with Root but perfect with Joss and Zoe, they all put their best effort in, but John remains steadily in egg position.

“Fuck it, Romeo says, attempting to climb up and join them, and Joss stops bouncing and absorbs the shocks so he can get on in her calm zone, then they all start bouncing again, hit the perfect rhythm and John only lasts a couple more bounces before toppling over so violently he almost bounces right off the trampoline, making Harold yelp. Zoe manages to grab him in a tackle before he goes over and pins him to the surface, laughing uproariously.

“We need one of those Olympic catchy people,” Shaw snickers, settling down into a very low bounce and poking flopped over John with her toes.

Root squats down behind her and then pulls her backwards, Shaw resists for a minute before realising that if she goes then she will be effectively underneath Root, and that sounds very nice, so she relaxes and flops down.

As predicted, Root climbs on top of her immediately, pinning her wrists and grinning down at her, profile catching the moonlight.

Out of the corner of her eye, Shaw sees Zoe pointing John down from the trampoline, and she turns her head to waggle her eyebrows before Root grabs her chin, pulls her back so they’re face to face. 

The trampoline wobbles under them as everyone else clears off, obviously opting to abandon the game if Root and Shaw are gonna be getting down in the middle of it, but Shaw does not give even the slightest of shits, because Root is looking down at her with huge eyes, flashing silver, and her lip is caught between her teeth. 

The hand wrapped around Shaw’s jaw softens, slides down and Root rubs her thumb down Shaw’s carotid, a question in her eyes. 

Breath catching, Shaw arches her back up into Root and murmurs, “yeah,” to let Root know she’s into it, and Root’s thumb digs in a little as she leans down to kiss her. 

The air evaporates out of Shaw’s lungs as their lips meet, fire darting through her and spreading out, making her limbs tingle and stomach coil delightfully. She sucks on Root’s lip lightly until Root pushes her mouth open, slides her tongue in and explores delicately, leaving Shaw’s head reeling and her body heavy and aching.

Root presses down on her, and Shaw meets the pressure, tilting her hips up desperately, desire and weed fogging everything out, except Root on top of her. They make out leisurely, letting the heat build and spin through their bodies, til Shaw can hear the little whimpering noises escaping from her throat into Root's mouth.

Then something thuds by her head, and she flinches, shocked into breaking the kiss. Another little thud and Root looks up too, stops trying to recapture her mouth.

“Get a rooooom,” Zoe catcalls at them, and John throws another small rock which bounces across the trampoline and hits Root on the ass. 

Caleb is busy building a fire with Harold, but Joss is clearly trying to defend them by removing the ammunition from the small pile John has gathered. He smirks and makes eye contact with Shaw as he throws another little rock.

Root groans and rolls off her.

“You guys can’t just gay me up and then fuck in front of me _on a trampoline_ , without at least giving me permission to perv,” Zoe throws another pebble, and John snickers.

“And I’ve already accidentally seen uh.. More of Root than I would prefer. We’re making a fire, could you either keep your pants on or go inside?” He asks, lifting a new beer out of the six pack by his feet. 

It’s cold without Root on top of her, and Shaw wriggles closer, presses against Root’s hip, “inside?” She asks. Shaw doesn’t wanna push Root right now, she’s fragile and stuff, but the way Root was climbing on top of her and holding her down certainly seems to indicate some fucking is on the cards. 

Root grins, and leans over, kissing the uncertainty right out of Shaw before rolling away and off the trampoline. It takes Shaw’s brain a minute to catch up and follow her into the house, giving her stupid laughing friends the finger over her shoulder. But in an affectionate way, obviously. 

Root has her head in the fridge by the time Shaw makes it indoors, and she has a beer in her hand when she emerges, she cracks it and takes a swig, throat working smoothly as she shuts the fridge door with her foot.

Shaw grins at the view and shrugs her coat off, kicks off her shoes and heads for the bedroom. 

She’s stripped and dropped to her knees before Root even gets in the room, trying to work up the courage to tell Root what she wants right now. She physically sees the heat flare in Root’s eyes when she runs them over Shaw’s naked body, and that helps. Shaw carefully puts her hands behind her back, looks up at Root and tries to force words past the dryness that’s taken over her mouth at the look on Root’s face. 

Root shuts the door behind her, cocks her head, and walks over, tucks two fingers under Shaw’s chin, “what is it, sweetie?” Her voice has that low, throaty quality it takes on before she’s about to really fuck Shaw’s shit up, and Shaw feels herself clench in response. She would have soaked her panties, had she been wearing any. As it is, she can feel her slickness on her inner thighs.

The mere thought of what she’s about to ask Root lights every cell in her body up, she feels like she must be glowing. She drops her eyes, making space for herself, and Root doesn’t force her to look up, just traces a condensation-damp fingertip over the arch of Shaw’s eyebrow. 

“Will you.. I want,” words fail her, and she trips over them but Root just waits. Shaw hears her take another mouthful of beer but she can’t drag her eyes off the rug she’s kneeling on.

She tries for a different tack, to see if that helps get the words out, “what we talked about on the phone, when I was at soccer camp,” her voice is low and thick with embarrassment, but she finally forces the words past her teeth, and Root has a smile in her voice when she answers.

“I remember. I said I think about fisting you sometimes. Is that what you want, Shaw? Is that why you bought two litres of lube?” She sounds a bit amused, but Shaw can also hear the desire in her voice, and it steadies her nerves, helps dull the embarrassment with lust that swirls through her veins in response to Root’s words.

She gathers herself, takes a breath and looks up, meeting Root’s eyes, “please.”


	37. But Did You Need All Two Litres? (fist me like one of your French girls)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning** all smut all the time, 2.75k of bangs, fisting, bondage, blindfolds. Skip this if you do not want the fisting smut.

“Please.” Shaw almost moans it, looking up at Root with pink cheeks and soft eyes, the very picture of submissive lust.

Root lets the plea settle in her guts, coil deep and dark and low. She runs her fingers down Shaw’s cheek, rubs her thumb over Shaw’s plump lower lip and nods, a smile she doesn’t even try to suppress curving her lips. There’s something so amazing in the way Shaw give it up for her, hands her power over and trusts Root to keep it safe. It sets Root on fire.

Shaw relaxes when she nods, and Root tucks Shaw’s hair behind her ear before she steps back, leaving Shaw on the floor to watch her as she undresses. She does it methodically, slowly, exaggerating her movements, keeping them dominant and powerful. Shaw’s eyes feel like brands on her body as she reveals her skin, discarding shirt, jeans, then her bra and reaching down for her panties.

She pushes them down her legs, and steps in close to Shaw, pushes her hand into her hair and pulls her forwards. She loves having Shaw like this, on her knees, all wide-eyed and eager-bodied. If only she had a dick to ram down Shaw’s throat... but the warm, soft lips trailing kisses over her hipbone are also very welcome, and she opens her legs to drag them to where she wants them, letting out a sigh of pleasure.

Shaw’s barely gotten her mouth on her when Root realises standing up is gonna be hard, so she walks backwards, dragging Shaw by the hair and forcing her to shuffle forward rapidly on her knees. She’s gonna have rugburn in the morning, but Root flops back on the bed and pulls Shaw’s mouth back into her, arching her back so she can push against Shaw's hot, searching tongue, grind against her chin.

Her hand clenched in Shaw’s hair sets the pace, and Shaw obeys it, snatching air when she can but concentrating mostly on Root’s pleasure, as it builds and builds, pressure swirling inside her until she comes fast and long, a built up wave of energy that leaves her gasping in its wake, idly yanking Shaw’s hair as she comes back down.

Shaw waits patiently on her knees, leaning her cheek on Root’s thigh, until Root recovers enough to sit up, yank the duvet clear and then pat the bed, “up by the headboard baby, I’m gonna tie you up for this,” her breathing is still erratic, and Shaw can’t hide a little smirk.  
  
Shaw eagerly slides onto the bed, wriggling up and lying on her back, watching Root to see if she made the right choice as she grabs the top of the iron bedframe.

Root gives her an approving nod as she comes back with a pair of socks and two grocery bags. She wraps the socks around Shaw’s wrist like padding before making an impressive and unforgiving pair of manacles out of the bags that she uses to restrain Shaw’s wrists.

Shaw gives them an experimental tug, to see how hard she can yank, and the triple-wrapped plastic holds up well. Root runs her fingers over the edge of the socks, knowing the plastic would hurt without them and she thinks Shaw’s gonna have enough sensations to sort through as is.

Running her hands down Shaw’s torso elicits a full body shiver, and Shaw’s eyes flutter shut as Root scrapes gently past her nipples, “sugar, I’d like to blindfold you, green?” Shaw gets stressed with eye-contact anyway, and Root wants to take that burden off the table, make sure Shaw can fully relax, restrained and blind and at her mercy.

“Green,” Shaw murmurs, arching, and Root pinches her nipples in reward before sliding off the bed. They don’t have anything that will make a great blindfold so Root just grabs a long-sleeved t-shirt and straddles Shaw’s hips to wrap it around her face. Shaw lifts her head and opens her eyes to look down at Root’s body before the blindfold goes over, and Root grins, grinding against Shaw’s stomach slightly and leaving an impressive wet patch, slick from her recent orgasm.

Shaw shudders, and Root ties the blindfold in place as firmly as she can, surveying her handiwork. It’s not super secure, or visually pleasing, but it should meet the purpose that she wants it for and Shaw looks good enough anyway that the visual isn’t spoiled. She still clutching the bar even though she’s restrained to it now, and her hair is wildly spread on the pillow. Her lips are soft and parted, and she keeps snaking her tongue out to dab frantically at her lower lip, which glistens like she’s wearing lip gloss. Root knows Shaw can still taste the flavour of arousal smeared across her face.

With a satisfied smirk, Root wriggles down until she’s straddling one of Shaw’s thighs, and delicately trails her fingers up the inside of the other. She’s gonna be gentle, wind Shaw up and up and up until she opens right up for Root. They’re both a little under the influence, and about to try a major new thing, so she’s decided to remove pain from the equation for the evening, and she knows Shaw’s picked up on that by the way she’s relaxing into Root’s touch. Shaw looks so fucking hot, spread out under her and totally at her mercy that Root has to resist the urge to mark her, to scratch her nails deep and leave red lines behind, but that's not the kind of sensations Root wants to overwhelm Shaw with this evening. 

Root tugs on Shaw’s pubic hair lightly and then lifts her hand to her mouth. She licks her thumb and then presses the ball of it against Shaw’s clit firmly. Shaw jerks like she’s been electrocuted, and, satisfied with the reaction Root squirms down, leans on her elbows and presses her mouth to Shaw’s pussy.

She’s potent and tangy from exercise, and Root chases the flavour, exploring every smooth line and curve of soft flesh. Shaw wriggles and moans, trying to lift her hips up, but Root leans an arm across her stomach and keeps the pace slow, indolent, working over every millimetre of flesh with dedication, while Shaw’s breathing rapidly turns to pants punctuated by little moans every time Root does something especially pleasing.

Root avoids her entrance completely, for now, concentrating on her clit, pushing her tongue against her and sucking gently, letting the build be slow but intense, not pushing her towards orgasm so much as reading her body and guiding her.

Shaw comes almost like it’s a surprise when Root brushes over her entrance with her knuckles, a shocked gasp escaping as she yanks on her restraints, pulsing violently against Root’s mouth as she gentles her through it, flattening a soft tongue over her sensitive flesh.

Shaw takes a few minutes to stop pulling away, to start lifting her hips into the touch, and Root finally slides a finger into her, slow and deep. Shaw shudders and moans, pushing into the penetration after being denied it for her first orgasm, and Root smirks against her clit, moving onto her knees so she can hold Shaw’s hips down and still fuck her. She adds a second finger and scissors slowly, keeping every movement rhythmic and less than Shaw wants, not letting her drive the pace at all.

She’s a wriggling, moaning mess when Root pushes a third finger into her easily, pressing her gspot with her index and ring finger while her middle finger pushes back, making space. Shaw twists against her make-shift cuffs, a string of gasped, “oh, oh, oh, ohs,” turning into a drawn out moan as Root refocuses on her clit.

This time Shaw pulls so hard on the cuffs she gets her whole body off the bed, holding herself there with her heels and wrists only as she comes, and Root can’t help the way her own eyes roll shut at the feeling of Shaw hot and tight and soaking on her fingers.

She pulls out slowly to give Shaw a little break from the direct stimulation, wriggles up to sit on her face and get her own second orgasm. Shaw starts in surprise when Root hovers over her. She's breathing heavily from her recent exertion, panting hot breaths straight into Root’s cunt. It feels amazing, and Root groans quietly as she wraps her fingers around Shaw’s wrists just below the cuffs and grinds down into Shaw’s mouth, careless of the fact Shaw is floppy and post-orgasmic still, just pushing against her until Shaw recovers enough to actually start participating, licking her way into Root’s pussy with a lazy tongue. Root drags this one out, pulls out of reach when she feels her orgasm approaching, delighting in Shaw’s groans and grunts underneath her and not wanting it to stop.

When she does come, she bites her own lip so hard she can taste blood as she wriggles down to lean her head on Shaw’s shoulder while she recovers. Of course, Shaw is restrained, so the best she can do is lean her head against Root while they both get their breath back, forehead to cheek.

Root trails her fingers down Shaw’s body, takes her time toying with the inside her of thighs, dragging it out until Shaw gasps, “please, god, please,” as she once again strokes her fingertips close but not close enough before she slides them up against where Shaw wants them.

Shaw is liquid and molten, the length of her so wet Root can hardly make out detail with her fingertips, and she grins a little as she explores, Shaw shivers and pants, her heart already pounding in her chest under Root’s ear.

Leaning up to press a kiss to Shaw’s mouth, Root cups her jaw briefly and bites her lip, “I’m gonna fist you now, sweetie, you’ve been so good.”

Shaw’s hips dance harder at her words, and she nods, leaning up for Root’s mouth, and Root indulges her in a soft slow kiss that drags a moan out of her before sliding off the bed to get the lube.

She glances back at the bed while she grabs the tub, enjoying the view of Shaw spread out and tensed against her restraints, legs spread and evidence of her arousal spread down her inner thighs, glistening in the soft orange lighting. She licks her lips.

The carpet is soft and warm under her feet as she pads back over, slides onto the bed and urges Shaw’s legs further apart so she can sit between them. She rubs a hand down Shaw’s thigh soothingly, so Shaw knows she’s there, positions herself so her hips are resting against one of Shaw’s thighs and her folded lower legs against Shaw’s other knee, touching her in as many places as possible.

Shaw tenses and moans as Root leans forward to press a kiss right above her clit, and Root grins against her soft skin, feeling the prickle of trimmed pubic hair against her cheek and nuzzling into it.

Three quickly lubed fingers go in easily, Shaw’s open and slick and ready, arching up like a bow for Root’s touch. She hums in approval, pushes two fingers from her other hand in under the knuckles, not all the way, just enough to stretch her out, slowly and determinedly making space for herself. She can feel Shaw’s muscles fluttering slowly around her fingers, opening up as she pushes against Shaw’s inner walls--soft and curving away from her touch.

“You’re ready, lover,” she murmurs, deliberately giving it as an information update not a question. Shaw moans in approval and lifts her hips, so Root pulls back with her left to load up further with lube, slicking her other hand like she’s finger painting. It mixes easily with Shaw’s natural arousal and she can't keep her eyes open as she retreats enough to fold her index and little fingers in and her thumb across her palm before driving slowly back in, it feels so good.

As her knuckles slide past Shaw’s hot, tight entrance she tenses and cries out, loudly, yanking on the restraints, and Root presses down on her hipbone to hold her in place, stroking soothing patterns with her fingertips and forces herself to still the hand she’s inside with, even though the feeling of clamping muscles driving onto her wrist is fucking incredible.

Shaw’s breathing in deep, rapid pants and her whole body is thrumming with tension, Root doesn’t think she could move her wrist if she tried, and she takes deep breaths herself to control the vicious spike of arousal the sensation of having her entire _hand_ inside Shaw has caused.

She can feel herself soaking the sheets under her, and she wishes she had a free hand so she could touch herself, has to satisfy her need by shifting slowly so she can grind onto her own ankle, the contact making her let out the moan that’s been building in the centre of her chest since she pushed into Shaw.

“Fuuuuuccckkkk,” Shaw eventually breathes out, “fuck, fucking _fuck,_ ”  she turns her head into her own arm, and Root relaxes the pressure on her hipbone, letting her shift a little.

“Color, sugar?” Her voice is low and thick, Shaw huffs out something that is almost a laugh.

“Yellow? I think, fuck. Just...fuck,” the words are strained and gasped, and Root leans over, careful not to jog her arm at all, takes a long, slow swipe at Shaw’s clit with her tongue and Shaw yells out, her whole body tightening again.

But she pushes up into Root’s mouth so Root laves over her clit again, more gently than she wants to, trying to give Shaw space to adjust to the level of fullness she’s experiencing.

After a few, long minutes, Shaw relaxes a little, the muscles gripping fiercely on Root’s wrist and hand, loosening enough that Root can finally move, so she presses her tongue flat against Shaw’s clit and flutters her fingers gently.

She’s prepared for the response, so she manages not to let Shaw smash into her teeth, but the wild movement of Shaw’s hips is hard to control so she pulls back a little, panting. Shaw looks fucking incredible, tensed and tight, her hips tilted upwards, feet braced on the bed, hands gripping tightly to the headboard even though she’s restrained as well. And Root’s hand completely inside her, fuck. While Root has done this before, she wasn’t quite prepared for the level of reaction she’d have to Shaw like this—she feels a little like she could come with just the tiniest bit of extra stimulation.

“Gr... green, fuck, Root,” Shaw gasps out, and Root grins, leaning down to cover her clit again, sealing her mouth over it as she moves her fingers inside, delicately stroking at Shaw’s walls.

Her orgasm builds around Root’s hand, she can feel it in the way Shaw’s whole body ebbs and flows into her, the space around her fingers flaring away and then gripping snugly down until Root can barely move again. She sucks gently on Shaw’s clit, not wanting to completely overwhelm her for this first time, and Shaw starts swearing loudly on every exhale until she crescendos in a drawn out cry that makes Root clench and grind down, desperate for something to push against.

Shaw comes, and keeps coming, Root just holding her fingers still and moving her whole hand in and out barely an inch. She can’t resist the urge to touch herself anymore, so she lets go of Shaw’s hip and brings her free hand to her clit, rubbing frantic circles until the combined sensations throw her over, leaving her barely able to hold herself up and keep gently thrusting inside Shaw’s still clenching pussy, reduced to gasping breaths against Shaw's clit and nothing more.

The fluttering muscles around her hand eventually calm enough that Root can move again, and Shaw moans weakly, a familiar moan that means ‘get the fuck out now, thanks’, and Root gathers herself enough to pull out as gently as she can.

It still yanks a cry and a secondary orgasm out of Shaw, a rush of fluid releasing after Root’s hand. She cups Shaw’s pussy gently, pressing her palm against her entrance, and rests her head on Shaw’s thigh, wriggling until she’s lying down again. As soon as Shaw stops fluttering Root forces herself to squirm upright and drag herself up the bed so she can untie her lover.

The blindfold comes off but Shaw’s eyes stay firmly closed, though she does roll into Root as soon as her hands are freed.

Root can’t hide a exhausted grin as she shuffles them down, scoops Shaw into her and curls up against her back. Shaw moans quietly but drags the duvet awkwardly between her legs when Root pulls it over them both, wiping her wet hand off on it with a little smirk. They're in the wet patch, but Root doesn't give a fuck, Shaw's heavy and limp against her, and she's not gonna move.  
  
Shaw’s breathing deepens into sleep almost immediately, but Root stays awake for a while, face pressed against Shaw’s neck and just feeling her body against her.


	38. Do They Make Doggy Earplugs?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning** mentions of fisting, discussions of loud sex, a little bit of emotional stuff around the rescue situation.

Shaw wakes up to the sound of the shower and rolls over. Her body twinges in protest, and she smirks a little as she remembers the previous night, stretches into the ache in her shoulders from tugging on the cuffs Root made out of fucking grocery bags. She definitely earned her Scout’s badge in impromptu bondage last night. 

Deciding a shower sounds like the best idea possible, Shaw wriggles over to the edge of the bed, puts her feet down, stands, and promptly sits back down again as her legs give out a little bit. She huffs a soft laugh and braces her hand on the bedside table as she gets up, and this time everything does what it’s supposed to and she shuffles towards the bathroom door. 

The low, pounding ache between her thighs pulses with her heartbeat, and she relaxes into the sensation for a moment before she opens the shower curtain and steps over the edge of the bath. Root smirks as she winces, reaching out to steady her. 

Shaw trundles right into Root’s chest and presses her forehead against Root’s collarbone, Root snakes an arm around her waist and strokes her hip soothingly, “okay?” 

Water streams down Shaw's face and she closes her eyes. There’s a variety of ways she could interpret the question, and the answer to all of them is ‘yes’, so she nods and leans up for a kiss. Root obliges and they make out under the spray until Shaw gets water in her nose and has to pull back to shake it out. 

Root wriggles past her so Shaw can get under the water. She leans against the tiles and watches with an adoring look on her face as Shaw picks up the body wash. Her pussy is tender and swollen to the touch as she washes, and the mixture of pain-pleasure lights her nerves up again. 

Root smirks at her, “yeah?” And Shaw shrugs. 

“I’m pretty sore,” she closes her eyes so she can’t see Root’s face, and Root reaches out to trace a hand over her chest.

“You’re pretty cute,” she replies, and then her hand is gone and Shaw opens her eyes to see Root stepping out of the bathtub, leaving the curtain open enough she can watch Shaw while she dries herself off.

Shaw ducks her head, a little shy for whatever reason, and watches through her eyelashes while she washes her hair. Root winks at her and pads out into the bedroom when Shaw turns the shower off.

“Whaddya wanna do today?” She asks as Shaw emerges from the bathroom, a towel round her chest, hair curling damply down her back. 

“I dunno. There’s good hikes round here but I can barely walk, sooo...” Shaw snarks, wincing as she pulls on underwear, and makes a face, takes them off again, “jammies it is,” she declares, grabbing her shorts off the floor. When she looks over at Root, there’s a pleased expression on her face, and Shaw rolls her eyes, throwing her wet towel at her.

“Stop looking so smug, yes, you fucked my brains out, good job,” she wrinkles her nose and stretches, then looks for a shirt.

“Thanks!” Root snickers, wandering over the room and snaking her arms around Shaw’s waist, “you felt so fucking good around my wrist, Sameen, jesus,” her eyes are dark, and Shaw smirks in pleasure. 

“You felt pretty fucking good wrist-deep in me,” she replies, leaning up for a kiss, and Root nips her lip gently before sinking into her, licking into her mouth.

Eventually, Root pulls back, “I guess we’ll just hang out, then. I’d like to take a closer look at the printout stuff,” she hunts for some underwear in the bag on the floor.

Shaw doesn’t reply, just looks at her for a second. Root seems to be a lot more like her usual self this morning, some of the shadows gone from her eyes. 

Root glances over and sees her watching, “what?” She asks, yanking on jeans.

Shaw shrugs, “you seem... happier?” She inquires as she finds a sports bra and pulls it on, followed by a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle t-shirt that Zoe insisted she buy so they could do nunchuck lessons. 

Root pauses in her hunt for a shirt, licks her lips, and then pads across the room again to stand right in front of Shaw, “...I never had anyone who would have done what you did, for me,” her voice is low and quiet, and Shaw’s belly squirms uncomfortably.

“Let you fist them?” She jokes, “I thought that wasn’t your first time,” Root just raises an eyebrow at her, and Shaw rolls her eyes, stepping back from the pressure. Root lets her go.

“Yeah, well. Whatever. You’d have come and got me if you had to. Remember that time you took a bullet for me?” Shaw busies herself with her hair and Root snorts quietly.

“Spur of the moment decision, best course of action available. Not the same,” she murmurs, turning away, and Shaw looks up, sees she’s moved and then steps up behind her. She hesitates before putting her hand on Root’s back.

It’s difficult to think of how to explain that it didn’t even feel like a choice, not really, that getting Root back was just what had to happen, but she can’t vocalise so she uses her fingertip to draw a star on Root’s skin at the base of her spine, “you’re welcome.” 

Root nods, like that’s enough, like that works for her, and grabs a shirt, pulling it on and buttoning it up swiftly, “alright, let’s feed you. It’s eleven already, your body must be eating itself.”

Shaw smirks, the heaviness of the moment alleviated, “I’m pretty sure it was you that ate me,” she quips, heading for the door. 

Zoe’s sprawled out with her head on Joss’s thigh on the sofa, a magazine held above her head, which looks like the world’s most challenging way to read a huge, floppy magazine. Joss, more sensibly, is not only upright but has a book. 

Zoe drops her magazine in excitement and starts clapping as soon as she sees Shaw. Joss puts her book down on the arm of the sofa and grabs one of Zoe’s hands to stop her.

“Morning,” Shaw heads for the kitchen, ignoring the round of applause and puts the kettle on, “coffee?”

Root wanders after her, starts opening cupboards, as Zoe calls out.

“Yes, coffee, and you owe Bear an apology.” 

“What?” Shaw turns around and whistles. Bear bolts out of one of the bedrooms, presumably John and Harry’s, and canons into her legs. She squats down to pet him, ruffling his fur, and he licks her face excitedly while she checks him for damage.

“Poor puppy thought Root was murdering you. Me too, actually. We seriously got up to check we weren’t being attacked, and then had to turn on the world’s loudest music so we didn’t all feel like filthy voyeurs,” Zoe snickers, throwing her magazine off her stomach and onto the floor. 

Root just grins at them, “sorry team, that’s what earplugs are for! But genuine apologies to Bear, don’t worry, your momma was having a very nice time,” she grabs flour and gets eggs and milk from the fridge. 

Shaw glowers at her, scruffing Bear’s ears, “new rule, if I’m loud enough to upset Bear you have to gag me,” she mumbles, then holds Bear’s face so she can look at him, “I’m sorry buddy, everything’s okay, I promise. As soon as I can walk properly I’ll take you for a nice mountain run to make up for it, okay?” 

Bear licks her face in response and Root snickers, starting to mix batter in a bowl, “deal. You guys want pancakes?” She calls over to Joss and Zoe. Joss is looking a bit red in the face, but Zoe just looks delighted, as per usual. 

“Yes please! The boys have all gone to the store to get more supplies, they should be back in a couple of hours,” Joss informs them. 

Shaw straightens up with a wince, grabbing the kettle as it starts to whistle and pouring it over grounds in a full size cafetiere, then leans on the counter and watches Root mixing the batter.

“Did any of you guys like, email your professors or anything?” Root inquires, pouring the first pancake into a heated pan, “Cause obviously in my case my head of department was extremely involved in kidnapping me, but y'all must be missing class?” 

“Yeah, we said we were sick, don’t worry,” Joss explains, putting her feet up on the coffee table and wriggling her toe-covered socks, “which kind of works cause we all live together. Harper’s running interference with soccer, we have one match this week but we can afford to lose it, so that’s fine.”

Shaw grins, “you’re such a good Captain, Captain!” And salutes her, Joss just rolls her eyes, but Root turns from the pancake to twitch an eyebrow, making Shaw smirk, seeing 'roleplay?' written on Root's face as clear as day. 

Zoe snickers and pads over to the kitchen to get mugs, pouring the correct amount of cream and sugar into them. Shaw pours the coffee, and takes the one Zoe pokes towards her. Zoe grabs two more and takes them back over to the sofa, handing one to Joss and retaking her seat, “I do have a paper due though, so I gotta do some work today.” 

“Me too,” Shaw sighs, thinking about the amount of work that she’s been determinedly avoiding over the past six days, “a lot.”

“I can help,” Root offers, taking a sip of her coffee, and flipping her pancake onto a plate before pouring the batter in for the next one. 

Shaw raises an eyebrow, “what do you know about Organic Chem or Abnormal Psych?” 

Root shrugs, “Organic Chem is mostly maths, isn’t it? And Abnormal Psych can’t be that hard. If you make notes I can make a paper out of them. I’m a bona fide genius, ex-child prodigy, and I just got my Master’s degree without even finishing term,” she waggles her eyebrows and then turns to deal with the pancakes again. 

Shaw groans, “I hate you, but if you can write me a passable paper out of notes that would be awesome.” 

“Urgh, you guys are so gross,” Zoe complains, sipping her coffee, “how do you have the energy to have amazing sex _and_ be super nice to each other, it’s unfair, you’re giving us all completely unattainable standards.” 

“I can help you as well, Zo,” Root expertly flips a pancake, “I do stuff really fast, so I can edit your papers or whatever, if you like?”

“That’s it. I’m stealing you. Sorry, Shaw, I’m gonna fight you for Root, survivor gets to date her,” Zoe announces.

Shaw rolls her eyes, “Root does what she likes, and what she likes to do is me. As often as possible, sorry,” she smirks, knowing she doesn’t look sorry at all, and grabs a plate to put up a pancake.

With an aggrieved sigh, Zoe flops back into Joss’ lap, “fine, I’ll take a pancake instead.”

Shaw snickers and dishes the pancakes, dodging Root’s attempt to pinch her ass on the way past.


	39. When Exactly Does Lesbian Bed Death Kick In? (John can't wait)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the ridiculous actor jokes, I can't help it. Also I apparently play six degrees of separation in my own head at all times now (Napoleon Dynamite-->Veronica Mars (via Mac)-->Person of Interest (via Keith/Elias)), if you can't do TMNT or Cabin in the Woods by yourself you clearly don't understand the game :D

The boys get back around two, and Joss and Root put the groceries and sundries away while they eat a late lunch, and Shaw and Zoe study side by side at the big wooden table. Zoe is wearing glasses that keep falling down her nose, and Shaw keeps reaching over to shove them back up with an irritated huff. Root thinks it is adorable. She has to restrain herself from shouting, ‘cute friends!’ at them every five minutes. 

After the boys have eaten, everyone ends up flopped in front of the T.V, watching some soccer game or another, and Root takes a little nap on the couch while Shaw plays with her hair absent-mindedly. 

It’s getting dark by the time Shaw wakes her up, announcing, “I owe everyone steak, which means you do too. Wanna help me cook?” 

“Want may be an overstatement,” Root rubs sleep out of her eyes and holds her hands up, for Shaw to help her to her feet. 

Shaw rolls her eyes, but then hauls her upright, pulling a face that lets Root know it hurt, “oh, yikes, sorry,” she murmurs, and Shaw pokes her in the side.

“I’m tender, be nice,” she mumbles back, and John makes a vomit noise from his position in the nearby armchair. Shaw picks up a cushion to throw at him, and he catches it handily.

“I’m allowed to make vomit noises if you’re allowed to scream so loudly we all think we’re about to be murdered,” he says, with a martyred tone in his voice and Shaw smirks.

“Yeah, alright, I’ll let you have that one. Sorry about that,” she adds, unconvincingly, before heading for the kitchen, limping exaggeratedly until John throws the pillow back at her and it hits her back. She snickers and lets it fall to the floor, walking more normally. 

“Someone separate the Mayhem Twins,” Zoe hollers at them all, unnecessarily loudly for how close she is, “last time they started with pillows but _everyone_ ended up covered in mashed potato, and do you have any idea how hard that shit is to get out of your hair?”

“Not a clue,” Root snickers, moving to stand in front of John, “if I promise she’ll never get to be that loud again, will you drop it so we all can remain un-potatoed?”

“But if I don’t mock her, who will?” He asks with an innocent expression but a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

Root snorts, and points at Zoe, “I think probably Zo has it covered, but she’s cute so she gets away with it.”

John sighs, and calls after Shaw, “bring me a beer and then I solemnly swear to let it go.”

The fridge opens and closes, and then Shaw pads across the living room floor to hand John a bottle of beer, which he looks at, then back at Shaw, “seriously?”

Root realises the bottle was unopened and rolls her eyes, grabbing Shaw and ushering her back to the kitchen. 

“Here,” Harold gets up from the dining room table and hands John his Christmas present key-tool, with a twinkle in his eyes, “Shaw got me this so it’s basically like she opened it. And I would like to avoid another Mashed Potato Incident also.” 

John grumbles but opens his beer, and then the front door opens and Caleb and Joss barge through it, laden with logs and with raindrops caught in their hair, “I think we gotta stay in tonight, so we got firewood before it really starts coming down,” Joss explains when Root cocks an eyebrow at her, while waiting for Shaw to tell her what to do in regards to dinner preparation. 

“Ooh, you know what we should do?” Zoe declares, sitting up from her position, splayed on the floor with her feet on the coffee table, “we should entirely watch Cabin in the Woods! It’s perfect! Look around!” 

Root snorts, looking at the team, and John lifts his beer, “shotgun being Chris Hemsworth, what a babe!” 

Shaw stops filling a pot with water and points at the potatoes on the side, so Root sets to washing them in the sink. 

“Oh my god, guys! I forgot Root is in Cabin in the Woods!” Zoe calls out, looking at her phone.

“We are all in the cabin, Zo,” Root points out, furiously scrubbing dirt off an especially stubborn potato.

“No! Your face is the same as the scientist’s face! The one from Angel! Hilarious!” Zoe kicks her feet in the air in glee, and Root rolls her eyes, even though no one can see her. 

Shaw shuffles up behind her, leans over to murmur, “she’s not wrong,” before piping up more loudly, “did you ever realise your face is in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Zo? Because that is far more embarrassing and also, more hilarious.”

“Urgh, Paige Turco,” Zoe mumbles, subsiding. 

John snickers, nursing his beer and grabbing the T.V remote, “is Cabin even on Netflix?” He looks for it, but can’t find it, and frowns, “pick something new or download?” 

“I’m pretty sure I have it on my external drive,” Finch gets up and wanders over to his bag to look.

From where they’re building a fire in the fireplace, Joss looks up, “could we, for once, watch something not full of murder? I could maybe use a light-hearted comedy or something.” 

Romeo wanders out of a bedroom and over to the fridge, grabbing a beer, cracking it open on the counter and then offering it to Root, she takes it, so he does another and offers it over to Shaw, who is looking very impressed.

She takes it, “can you teach me how to do that? Also... maybe pick locks, if we have time,” she has that belligerent tone in her voice she gets when she asks for favours but doesn’t want to, but Romeo just ignores it after glancing briefly at Root. 

His reply is light, “sure, maybe you can show me how to put a grown man on the floor in three seconds in exchange,” he grins, “anyone else for beer?”

“Ooh, me,” Zoe calls, as Shaw nods in agreement to the idea, “hey, we could do skill exchange lessons! I want Shaw to show me her nunchuck skills. Girls love girls with skills. Computer hacking skills,” she points at Root, “nunchuck skills,” she points at Shaw, “oh my god, you’re Napoleon Dynamite’s dream come true! Let’s watch Napoleon Dynamite!”

Romeo grabs more beer, heading into the living room and handing them around to various people, then returns the last beer in the six pack to the fridge.

“I’m in for Napoleon,” Joss declares, flopping down on the sofa, Caleb follows suit, raking his hair off his face.

“I’ve never seen it,” he says, to which the entire room spins around in comedic shock, and then everyone cracks up.

“Sounds good to me,” Shaw says, taking a swig of her beer and starting to chop the now clean potatoes, ”gimme ten minutes to finish setting up in here and we can start while the potatoes boil, then eat in front of the T.V?”

“Nice plan,” Root grins at her, feeling affectionate, “what should I do now?”

“Broccoli, slave,” Shaw declares, spinning around to add potatoes to the now boiling water, and Root cracks up, opening the fridge and squatting down to get the veg out.

“Are you thinking calling me ‘slave’ will make everyone forget who spends most of their time on their knees around here?” She murmurs, quietly enough to avoid the rest of the room hearing, and Shaw looks over her shoulder to grin at her.

“Or am I hoping you’ll remind me who’s in charge again later?” She doesn’t bother to lower her voice, and John makes another loud vomiting noise. 

“Alright, alright, settle down. Everyone is very excited that you two are reunited, but please stop making my boyfriend feel sick with all this vagina-adjacent talk, it’s me that has to deal with his night terrors,” Harold snickers, sipping his beer and leaning over to pat an indignant John’s knee.

“Sorry, Finch!” Shaw cackles, putting the lid on the pot and moseying back to the living room. 

John mutters under his breath about not being able to wait for lesbian bed death while he cues up the movie.


	40. Don’t Take Me Trying to Sit on Your Dick as Any Sort of Indication I Want to Hear about Your Childhood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning** discussion of sex but nothing terribly graphic. Turn for the mildly smutty for the last ten or so lines, marked with a rule.

Steak is delicious, because Shaw is excellent at cooking steak, if she does say so herself. She refuses to cook them more than medium on principle, but fortunately everyone is fine with that and they all eat enough meat and mashed potatoes to sink a small boat and then lie around on the sofa, chairs and floor for the rest of the movie groaning about how full they are. Root doesn’t manage to finish her steak, but that’s one of Shaw’s favourite things about dating a bird-human—she always gets leftovers. 

When the credits roll, Zoe does also, making a reasonable sized joint this time and then starting on another instead of one enormous one.

Romeo jerks his chin at her, “there, you can teach me how to roll? I’ve never tried,” so Zoe shuffles over and goes through it with him until he produces a short, overly fat joint that Zoe laughs at. 

Shaw does not miss the fact that Zoe’s knee is against Romeo’s the entire time they’re rolling up, and she pokes Root in the side and pulls faces to communicate this fact, to which Root, irritatingly, just looks knowing and smug. 

“You wanna learn the beer bottle thing, Shaw? It’s probably best to do it before you smoke, in case you accidentally immediately fall over and Root lands on top of you again,” Romeo grins, and Root cocks an eyebrow at him.

He meets her eyes for a second and then snorts and looks away, getting up and wandering over to the kitchen counter, getting a new beer. Shaw squeezes Root’s thigh and follows suit. He shows her the move, and it only takes her two tries to get it, much to his surprise.

She shrugs, opening another successfully and delivering it to John, “I’m a quick learner. Want me to show you a couple of takedowns?”

“Awesome,” Romeo agrees, and Caleb asks to join in and Zoe and Joss both bounce over, followed after a moment by Root, so Shaw ends up teaching an extremely cramped self defence class for the next hour, while Finch and John sprawl on the sofa and start smoking, shouting encouragement and heckling in about equal amounts. 

Shaw finds she really enjoys teaching them a few moves, she used to like working with the younger teens at her old dojo—part of being a blackbelt is taking on teaching responsibilities—but usually teaching the adults left her irritated and frustrated. Teaching her friends, however, is different, they listen to what she says, and try hard, but don’t take themselves too seriously. 

The class comes to an abrupt end when Zoe manages to take Romeo’s legs out and lands on top of him, looks down at him, and then they abruptly start making out. 

Shaw wrinkles her nose, “I’d like to point out that when I started making out with Root in front of everyone, I had the decency to do it while stoned and in the dark, Zoe.” 

Zoe sits up with a grin, then climbs to her feet and holds her hand down for Romeo who takes it and gets up, plopping down in a chair. Zoe climbs onto his lap sideways like they’ve been dating for years, “you gotta seize the moment, Shaw, otherwise it passes,” she says sagely, reaching her hand out for the joint. From the way Romeo curls his hand around her hip bone, he seems to agree.

John complains about PDAs and puts an episode of the Walking Dead on Netflix, until Joss grabs the control and changes it, “no murder. Not even zombie murder, thanks.” She flicks through and they all take it in turns to veto different stuff, Orange is the New Black is rejected because John says that it’s basically catnip for Shaw and the bedroom is too near the living room, Buffy is rejected because Romeo’s never seen it, a fact that almost makes Zoe fall off his lap in shock and loudly reconsider sleeping with him, but he leans up to whisper something in her ear and she settles back down, smirking. 

Eventually they settle on Stick It, even though Shaw proclaims that the ice bath scene is probably going to make Root want to check out her own six pack, and it is not her fault if that rapidly descends into sex. 

Passing joints around, along with chips and beers, everyone settles into cozy film watching mode. The ice bath scene rolls around, and Root shoves her hands up Shaw’s shirt, tickling her and making her squeal, much to her immense embarrassment. She flops right off the sofa on to the floor and refuses to lean against Root’s legs even.

“Why does her bra change colour?” John asks, after a moment, and everyone looks at him, confused. He gestures at the scene, “her bra... it’s blue, and then it’s gray. Did you never notice that?” 

He rewinds and replays the scene, and Shaw is not the only person _shocked_ to realise that yes, he’s correct, her bra magically changes colour during the scene. 

Root cracks up, pointing at the TV with her beer, “I’ve seen this movie like four times _just_ with you lot. Have we literally all been so distracted by boobs that we never noticed that?” 

“This is the best sexuality test ever!” Zoe declares, spinning around on Romeo’s lap to face the group so fast he almost gets an elbow to the face, “do you notice the bra, or only the boobs! Situational blindness at its finest.”

“I noticed the bra,” Caleb says, with a little smirk. 

Zoe narrows her eyes at him, “then maybe it’s more of perviness test, cause I’m ninety five percent sure you’re not gay. I have eyes,” she looks from him to Joss deliberately and Shaw sits up, delighted.

“Wait, what?” 

“Nothing!” Joss splutters, grabbing the remote, while Caleb looks a little cornered.

Root just about falls off the sofa laughing and Shaw has to wiggle to avoid being landed on. “Did my kidnapping turn into the best couple’s retreat ever or something? Holy shit, that is hilarious!”

“No, we’re not.. I mean... No!” Joss flails and puts the movie back on, “shut up, all of you!”

Of course nobody does shut up, and when the movie’s finally over, Zoe slides off Romeo’s lap and grins at him, “right, I’m going to bed. You’re invited, but only if you promise not to construe this as any kind of romantic and or dating sort of situation.”

Romeo laughs and gets to his feet, stretching, “you’re a breath of fresh air, you know that? I got the picture last night when you said ‘please don’t take me trying to sit on your dick as any sort of indication I want to hear about your childhood’, before wandering off.” 

John makes a complaining noise, but Harry silences him effectively by climbing into his lap and grabbing his hair, dragging him in for a kiss. 

Shaw holds her hand up for a high-five, which Zoe takes before grabbing Romeo’s hand and dragging him in the direction of her bedroom, and Shaw gets up, grins at Root. 

“Don’t take me trying to sit on your dick as any sort of indication I want to hear about _your_ childhood,” she snickers, padding towards the bedroom, waving goodnight to Harry and John, Caleb and Joss. She hopes Finch and Reese go to bed now and give Caleb and Joss the chance to do something adorable like watch a show curled up on the sofa together. Unlike Zoe, Joss does not like to sit on the dicks of new acquaintances without hearing some stuff about their childhood _first_.

Root ducks into the bedroom while Shaw is brushing her teeth, follows her into the bathroom and slides her hands around her waist, dipping her fingers below Shaw’s waistband. 

“Scale of one to ten,” she murmurs, licking Shaw’s neck, making her shiver. 

Root’s tongue is hot and wet and distracting on Shaw’s throat, and she tilts her head to give Root better access if she wants it, “uh, between two and four depending on how I’m sitting,” she groans, arching as Root toys with her pubic hair. She drops her toothbrush in the sink and leans over to wash her mouth out.

* * *

“You gonna let me be gentle with you?” Root leans with her and hums into Shaw’s hair, inhaling and slipping her fingers down a little further, cupping Shaw’s pussy with a gentle hand. 

Shaw stands up and grins at her in the mirror, “let you?” She turns, leaning against the sink and bracing her hands on it.

Root smirks, “okay, bad choice of phrase, are you gonna bitch about it if I try and take care of you?” 

Shaw wrinkles her nose, sliding her hands under the hem of Root’s shirt and tugging it up, Root obligingly helps her get it off completely, she looks up at Root through her lashes, “not too soft? I want to feel you,” she leans forward, sliding down a little and pressing her face into Root’s breasts, Root winds a hand into her hair and tugs gently, moving Shaw’s mouth to her nipple.

“Oh, you’ll feel me.”


	41. You'll Feel Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning** all smut all the time. Domination, orgasm delay, self restraint, mild S &M, marking, biting
> 
> apparently I am accidentally quoting MWY for chapter titles now. Oh well.

Root arches her back, pressing into Shaw’s hot mouth as she sucks gentle kisses across the curve of Root’s breast, working her way up the smooth expanse of chest to nip at her collarbone and then up the column of her throat until Root pulls back, pinning Shaw in place by the hips so she’s trapped against the sink.

“Turn around, baby,” Root murmurs, tugging on her hipbone to reinforce the command. Shaw spins obediently, a flush rising in her cheeks, and Root pushes her shorts down slowly, until they drop to the floor and Shaw kicks them away. 

Yanking Shaw’s tshirt off only takes a second, leaving her naked with gooseflesh dotting her arms. Root muscles her into the sink, looking at her in the mirror as she arranges Shaw how she wants her. Hands braced on the sides of the sink, bent over just a little. 

Shaw shivers as the cold ceramic makes contact with her hipbones, and Root grins, biting the smooth slope of her trapezius with demanding teeth. Shaw grunts, leans into the sting of her teeth, and Root soothes it away with her tongue. 

Shaw's eyes are closed, and Root watches her in the mirror, the way she licks her lips as Root’s fingers slide to her nipples, pinching roughly, thinking about the clothes pegs she discreetly pocketed earlier. For tonight though, Root is still sore and achy, doesn’t have the strength to really hurt Shaw, so bondage improvisation classes will have to wait until tomorrow. Her teeth and hands will do for now. 

Shaw tenses as Root scrapes blunt nails up from the top of her pubic hair to her sternum, admiring the white-turning-to-pink lines that appear in her wake. Root grabs her hips, spreads her fingers out and digs them in, driving dents into Shaw’s skin. Shaw wants to feel her, that’s fine with Root. She’ll scatter marks down her body and work her up until she’s gasping and soaked, then be as gentle as she wants when Shaw’s too much of a mess to protest.

Watching Shaw wince around the house all day has left Root with the urge to be tender. But first she has to get Shaw to the point she won’t push away from that, will relax and let Root wreck her in the sweetest possible way. 

She bites again, harder. Hard enough that Shaw tilts her head and lifts into her teeth, trying to soften the vicious pain by arching up into it, breathing speeding up into raw little pants and then stopping completely, a pained look washing over her face, her eyebrows scrunched and tight in the mirror. Root doesn’t let go. Shaw whines, and then relaxes completely, takes a slow, long breath and holds still, her face smoothing as she leans into the pain rather than fighting it. 

Root sucks on the damaged flesh, Shaw whimpers but doesn’t flinch, and Root releases her, kissing over the mark she’s left behind and humming happily. She winds her hand into Shaw’s hair, tugs her head sideways and presses her lips to Shaw’s neck, sucks a warm mouthful of soft throat between her teeth and grins against it when Shaw doesn’t even twitch, just pliantly leans into the contact. 

So good. Root slides her hands away from the fistfuls of muscle she’s been grabbing at Shaw’s hips, runs them up Shaw’s body and cups her full breasts, holds the weight of them while sucking an impressive purple stain into the side of Shaw’s throat, marking her up deliberately. Hey, they’re not in school for another five days, Shaw doesn’t have anywhere important to be, Root may as well seize the opportunity to indulge the part of her that always wants to mark—to own. 

She probably spends half an hour with Shaw trapped against the sink, watching her closed-eye reactions to the pain and pleasure Root pushes into different parts of her body, never touching her pussy, until Shaw is a strung out, moaning mess. 

Root steps back and smiles at the sight before her, Shaw is speckled with pink marks, teeth and nails showing Root’s path, like a map over the body of her lover. Shaw moans and opens her eyes, blinking long and slow as she finds Root’s gaze in the mirror. Her pupils are wide, her eyelashes sparkling with unshed tears from some of the more painful nipple twists Root subjected her to. 

Root leans forward, curling her arms around Shaw’s waist, leaning over to reach her mouth and Shaw doesn’t let go of the edges of the sink, clinging on with white knuckles as she meets Root’s mouth for a kiss. Root keeps it slow, gentle, a counterpoint to the throbbing welts over Shaw’s hips. She runs her fingertips over them, restimulating the injured flesh, and Shaw shivers and gasps against her.

When Root’s ready, she turns Shaw, pushes her back against the sink and guides her hands to the taps. They’re the flat-handled kind, just big enough for Shaw to curl her fingers around, and as she does so, one of the handles moves enough that water starts to trickle out of the tap. Root pushes Shaw’s hand back, making her turn the tap off, and leans down to murmur into her mouth, “you let go, I stop; water comes on, I stop; you say anything that isn’t a safe word, I stop; you put your heels on the floor, I stop.” 

Shaw groans low in her chest, obeying Root’s hands as she positions her the way she wants her, balanced on the edge of the sink, the balls of her feet. Shaw has to tense her entire body to stay there, and she can’t use her hands for much more than balance or the taps will turn on. 

Satisfied she’s given Shaw enough to distract her from how _gentle_ Root is gonna be with her, she grabs a towel and folds it over itself, slowly and deliberately. Shaw might like to be put on her knees on hard surfaces, but Root prefers a nice, comfortable pad on the rare occasion she’s willing to kneel. She'll get on her knees, but it's still her in charge, after all. 

Once she’s happy with the comfort her towel-pad will afford her, she takes her time positioning it between Shaw’s legs, admiring the slight tremble in the muscles of Shaw’s thighs as she does so, Root drops to her knees, still wearing her jeans. 

Shaw’s staring down at her with huge, dark eyes, her lower lip trembles for a second on her exhale before she sucks it into her mouth as Root leans forward and presses the lightest kiss imaginable to her hipbone.

She trails her mouth around, licking down the juncture of Shaw’s thigh, tracing the outline of her pubic hair with frustratingly gentle teeth. Shaw can’t push into her because of her precarious position, has to just take what Root hands out, has to accept the light touches and the tender caresses. 

When Root eventually works her fingers between Shaw’s thighs she’s not surprised to find her soaked—she imagines she has been all day, her pussy reacting to the shock from the previous night. After Shaw waxes she’s always drenched for days. 

Root teases gently with her fingertips, while Shaw writhes and tries to resist the urge to cock her hips for Root’s access, which would result in her sliding off the edge of the sink and putting an end to this game they’re playing.

She swirls her fingertips through Shaw’s wetness, sucking a gentle mark into her hipbone at the same time, and then pulls her fingers back, uses them to draw damp patterns on Shaw’s thighs which she traces with her mouth, licking the flavour clean and moaning in quiet approval. 

Shaw whines pitifully, her legs trembling, and Root smooths her hands up Shaw’s legs, shuffles closer and presses a kiss right above her clit, making Shaw jerk forwards and almost fall. Root helps her get her balance again, because that was involuntary and the taps didn’t come on, and then she noses between Shaw’s thighs and presses her mouth to her. 

She wraps one arm around Shaw’s thigh, works the other under her own chin, and strokes over Shaw’s entrance teasingly with three fingers, never pushing inside. Root laps over her clit, achingly slowly, making Shaw wait for her, making Shaw let Root take her time. 

It’s long and slow and teasing, Root thinks she goes down on Shaw for at least twenty minutes, writing nonsense words over her clit with her tongue, stroking over her whole pussy with delicate fingers, driving Shaw closer and closer to the edge until she tumbles over with a soft cry, dropping onto her heels even as Root gentles her through it, curls her hand protectively against Shaw’s clenching pussy and climbs to her feet, sliding one arm around Shaw’s waist to help hold her up. 

Shaw makes a little moaning noise as Root reaches out for her hands, helps her uncurl them from the taps, rubs them gently until Shaw slips them around Root’s waist and leans against her, panting hot breaths against her sternum. 

Root can’t hide her smug grin as she helps Shaw pull her jammies back on and ushers her towards the bed before taking a minute to do her own teeth and take off her jeans and underwear, pulling on cotton jammies instead. 

She crawls in next to Shaw who rolls over onto her, blinking with sleep-hazed eyes, “what do you want?” 

Root snorts softly, butts her head against Shaw’s, “got enough energy to put your fingers in me real quick?” She asks, taking in the floppy, exhausted state of her lover with a smirk.

Shaw doesn’t answer, just slides her hand down Root’s chest and under the waistband of her shorts. Root leans her head against Shaw’s and pushes her own hand down to join her, as Shaw curls her fingers and presses inside Root.

“Fuck,” she exhales softly, lifting her hips into Shaw’s touch, and Shaw nods sleepily, hooking her fingers deliberately against Root’s gspot and pulling down a little, making her gasp. 

She presses onto her own clit, groans as Shaw rubs against her insides with competent fingers, and five minutes later she’s tumbling over the edge of her own orgasm, left with barely enough energy to pull her hand out of her shorts and throw an arm over Shaw’s hips as she rolls over.


	42. Did You Enjoy It?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jenny- the bowls discussion is for you :)

The following day dawns gray and thunderous, so the Team settles in for a work day. Everyone has stuff to do for class, except Root, who settles down with a laptop and the sheets of code NOVA sent to her printer. She works on it until Shaw hands her a barebones outline of a paper which she turns into full and grammatically correct sentences, looking through some of Shaw’s previous papers so she can mimic her syntax. 

They fix a haphazard lunch of sandwiches and eat as they work. Then, after a while Zoe hands Root a USB with her paper on it so Root edits five thousand words on ‘How to Win Friends by Deceiving People: The Mutability of Truth in Interpersonal Relationships and Social Interaction’ for her, learning a few useful facts during the process. Then she makes quick work of marking a bunch of Harold’s students’ work for him before Shaw gets up and stretches, announcing that she’s had enough of work.

“I’m done with this bullshit, we’ve all been good for... seven hours, who wants to play a game instead?”

“A game like Settlers of Catan, or a game like Don’t Get Me Started?” Zoe inquires, leaning back on her chair so the first two legs are off the floor, “also who is going to give me a round of applause for concentrating for this long? I am amazing!”

Joss rolls her eyes, “yeah, nice work, Zoe. The rest of us don’t do this on a regular basis or anything.”

“You know my brain hates doing things for long periods of time,” Zoe complains, “therefore I am the most impressive. Well, not as impressive as Shaw’s monster hickey, but I do what I can.”

“We didn’t bring any board games,” Finch points out, “and we only have like four beers left, so I think drinking games are out?”

“Let’s get baked and play Slap or Kiss?” Zoe suggests, kicking her feet and then almost falling back onto the floor, Shaw just gets there in time to catch her chair. 

“Say anything else about my hickey and next time I’ll let you fall,” she threatens, goodnaturedly. 

“What’s Slap or Kiss?” Root inquires, stretching out her aching neck and rolling her shoulders.

“It’s like spin the bottle, except everyone votes on whether you get a slap in the face or a kiss. It’s hilarious,” Zoe declares, leaning her head up and grinning at Shaw while Shaw pushes her chair back into normal people sitting position. 

“Sounds... painful?” Caleb gets up, yawning and heading to the kitchen, getting some water. 

“Hilarious,” Zoe emphasises, scooting back and out of her chair, then doing a shake-it-out style dance, Bear leaps over to see what she’s doing, and Zoe squats down to play with him, which prompts Shaw to join in and soon there is an uproarious game of ‘mock chase Bear’, which is one of his favourite games and always ends up with Shaw and Bear rolling around on the floor. 

Zoe escapes and flops down on the sofa, pointing around regally before starting to roll a joint, “gather, peons.” 

Finch locates an empty beer bottle and plops it on the table, then settles into the loveseat while Root sits down next to Zoe and Joss takes position on her other side. 

“Why do you guys never smoke a bowl?” Romeo inquires as sits down on the floor, leaning against the wooden chest of drawers under the TV. 

Zoe throws him a pillow, “I like rolling, and since it is always my weed we are smoking, I get to pick,” she grins, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, we have a few nice pipes between us, but... I always end up throwing everything on the floor while gesticulating wildly, so joints are usually safer when I am involved. And I’m always involved.”

“She hit me in the head with an entire bong once,” John grumbles, sitting down next to Finch, who leans up to straighten his collar for a moment before setting back down. 

“That was so funny,” Shaw declares, finally emerging from her Bear wrestling match and worming her way across the floor in a military crawl until she can lean against the sofa between Root’s legs. The front door is open a crack and Bear huffs and wanders outside.

“It was amazing!” Zoe agrees, “right, if you want them to kiss, you put your left hand up, right hand for slapping. Oh! I have a pen!” She grabs a sharpie off the table and writes K on her left hand, then an awkward S on her right hand, before waving the pen around wildly, “anyone else?”

No one else opts for writing on their hands, to which Zoe announces that they can just use her as a cheat sheet if they forget, and then points at John, “you’re first!”

John huffs in disapproval, waits til Caleb settles down in the armchair, and then leans over to spin the bottle. It lands on Finch, and John groans while Finch closes his eyes.

It’s almost a universal slap vote, Caleb choosing kiss and shrugging when everyone glares at him, so John is frowning when he turns to Harold.

Finch opens his eyes, sees John’s face and groans. John leaves a pink handprint on his cheek, Finch grimaces and shakes it out, and then leans over for a kiss but is denied by Zoe sputtering protests about game rules and cheating. “Sorry, lover,” John says regretfully, rubbing his thumb over Harold’s cheekbone.

Finch spins and gets Caleb, it’s a split vote four-to-four and after a moment of heated argument Zoe declares it necessary that Finch pick himself, and he chooses to lean over slap Caleb gently. 

Shaw is up next, and she spins, it lands on Romeo he closes his eyes at Zoe’s behest, they are voted to kiss by everyone except Root, who makes a face at them. 

Shaw slides out of her seat, grabs Romeo by the collar and plants a kiss on him, Romeo flinches when it lands and opens his eyes slowly, “I didn’t enjoy it,” he says solemnly to Root.

Root snickers as Shaw gives an indignant ‘hey’, and traipses back to her seat.

Root spins and lands on Shaw. She smirks as the vote falls for a slap, and hits her a lot harder than most people are slapping each other, grinning innocently when Shaw works her jaw and narrows her eyes, heat sparking.

“Well, remind me in future that this is not the best game to play with Shoot, here,” Zoe complains, “kissing and slapping both turn them on!”

“Shaw slapping me doesn’t turn me on,” Root points out, “It just makes me want to...” She glazes over thinking of all the fun ways she can remind Shaw who is in charge of the pain distribution in their relationship, and Zoe pinches her hip.

“Focus, Root. Focus. No fucking for at least another hour.” She hands the bottle to Joss, who spins, and has to kiss John, much to Shaw’s amusement.

Then Caleb kisses Romeo, John slaps Shaw—hard enough to make her swear, Finch kisses Root to both of their chagrin, Shaw slaps Romeo instead of kissing him this time, Zoe slaps Root, leaving a pink mark on her cheek, then Root spins and gets Zoe, her revenge slap leaving a matching mark. 

Joss gets Caleb, and everyone votes for a kiss, which Joss does and then sits back with a faint flush in her cheeks. Then Caleb kisses Root and both of them make fake vomit noises, Romeo kisses John, then John kisses Shaw and they both lean back making ‘gross’ faces and scrubbing their hands over their mouths. Root thinks it is absolutely hilarious that people are kissing people who do not match their own sexuality with less disgust than a short peck with John leaves Shaw expressing, “it’s like kissing my brother!” Shaw complains when she points this out. 

Finch kisses Joss, then Shaw gets Root and is finally allowed to kiss her, Zoe gets Root again and slaps her on a four-three vote. Root gets Zoe and this time the vote falls in favour of kissing, so Root leans over to lay one on her while Zoe still has her face screwed up in anticipation of a slap. 

She just about falls off the sofa in shock, and Shaw catches her, and Joss relights the second joint that had been discarded at some point during the game.

“Well, my face hurts, and does anyone else feel like switching games before this inevitably descends into a threesome this cabin isn’t equipped to withstand?” She inquires, taking a big drag and passing to Caleb, who agrees.

“Yeah, sure. What do you wanna do?” 

“Of course you’re on her team,” Zoe sounds indignant, struggling out of Shaw’s lap and back onto the sofa, “but I’m in for Drunk or Kid, my face also hurts, and I’d like to remember my Root kiss with a clear head.” She makes a mock dreamy face, putting her hands under her chin, and Shaw thwaps her.

“Drunk or Kid like on How I Met Your Mother?” Romeo asks, taking the joint from Caleb. 

“That’s the one! I’ll go first,” Shaw declares, squirming around and looking up at Root with a grin, “broke my arm falling out of a tree trying to impress a girl.”

“Ooo, I love this game,” Joss bounces a bit more upright, and everyone takes it in turns to vote. Shaw reveals that she was in fact a kid, aged twelve, and Root snickers.

“Impress a girl, eh?” She reaches down to drag her thumb over the mark on Shaw’s neck, making her shiver.

“I was an early starter,” Shaw declares, “your turn.”

“Uh, broke into a construction site and painted the diggers to look like dinosaurs,” Root declares, and everyone takes a minute to vote, all deciding that sounds like a drunk action. 

Root snickers, “well, I was drunk, but I was also fourteen, so ... can I be both?” 

“Nope!” Zoe pokes her in the side, “and kid is pre-drinking anyway. So, like, if you were drunk it doesn’t count as kid action, ever. My turn! Climbed a tree to escape from zombies I was convinced were hiding in the grass.”

Everyone votes kid except for Shaw who whoops in triumph when Zoe reveals herself to have been drunk. 

Joss wriggles into a cross-legged position on the couch, “uhm, okay, I was making chocolate chip cookies and I ate the entire bowl of dough by accident,” she looks around, and everyone votes. It’s an even split, and Joss reveals herself to have been a kid at the time. 

The game rolls on, everyone telling a couple of good stories. Most of Romeo’s involve fire, regardless of age, but Root already knew he liked blowing things up. It gives her warm feelings in her belly to see her old friends integrating with new new ones so well, and although she was initially a bit surprised when Zoe heavily implied there was something going on between Joss and Caleb, she thinks it is adorable how they keep glancing at each other across the room. 

Eventually, she’s too stoned and tired to keep her eyes open, and when Shaw pokes her in the side and points at the bedroom, she’s happy to say goodnight and get into bed. 

Shaw turns the light off after they’re both changed and clean, and slides her toes down Root’s calf, wriggling close enough that she can sling her leg over Root’s hip.

It makes Root feel safe, having Shaw pressed up against her. She falls asleep quickly, and doesn’t dream.


	43. I Hope You Don't Think My Mouth Is Going On Any Of Your Disgusting Swamp Parts

The storm has blown itself out the next day, so everyone agrees to put in a couple of hours of work in the morning and hike up to the nearby mountain top in the afternoon. 

Root gets an email from Control that gives her her ‘final results’ transcript. She’s extremely amused to note that while she’s been issued scores of one hundred percent in most of the standard coding modules, Control has given her a score of just ninety two for her final project. 

That seems a bit fucking cheeky to Root, considering that her final project ended up with Control shoving needles full of amphetamines into her elbows, but she can’t say she’s displeased with the idea of not needing to hand anything else in. It’s only April, which means she’s been given a two and a half month reprieve of work and suddenly has a lot of free time on her hands. Free time she can use to look into what NOVA left behind. 

A ninety two is fine, all things considered, although she does feel like she could have done better if not for the AI apocalypse distraction. When you add in the fact that she only even came to university in the first place for Hannah, and just got her Master’s in record time at the ripe old age of twenty two, she’s feeling pretty smug. She's not sure if she's compartmentalising everything that happened and should schedule a nervous breakdown for the near future, or if she's just more resilient that she's giving herself credit for, but either way a week off with her friends in the woods is just what the Doctor probably would have ordered if she could tell them what happened without being committed to an Institution. 

The email does remind her that she should probably email Daizo and the rest of the boys, let them know she’s alive, so she puts together a message that won’t raise any suspicions or questions she doesn’t want to answer. 

Shaw is hunched over her computer swearing violently every ten or so minutes, taking some kind of online quiz. Root catches herself doing the doe-eyed stare a few times—god knows why she thinks Shaw is so cute when she’s irritated—so she wanders into the kitchen to fix everyone some lunch in the hopes of avoiding embarrassing herself.

She makes a bunch of grilled cheeses and a pitiful impersonation of a salad, sighing at the lack of vegetables in the fridge. When she puts a plate down by Shaw’s elbow, Shaw looks up and smiles at her, and Root leans down to kiss her just ‘cause she can. 

John grumbles about missing the days when Shaw refused to show any affection for anyone except Bear, and Zoe throws an apple at his head, stating that it’s a perfectly normal response to trauma. Of course the whole thing makes Shaw uncomfortable so Root leaves her be, finishes handing out food to the worker bees, and then goes for a little walk outside with her own sandwich. She sits on the trampoline to eat, then lies down on her back, ready to be gathered for their hike whenever everyone is ready. 

The sky is clear, little white clouds just scudding fast across the distant mountaintops, and warm in the sun that reaches over the open space and patio. 

She’s half-drifting off, eyes closed, when the trampoline bounces, startling her out of her daze. 

Shaw stands over her, with her hands on her hips, blocking out the sun. Root reaches up and hooks her fingers behind Shaw’s knees, and Shaw obediently buckles and sits down straddling Root’s hips. She takes the opportunity to grind against Root as she gets settled.

Root smirks, wraps her fingers around Shaw’s hips, “if only I was wearing a dick and you were wearing a dress,” she murmurs, worming her thumbs into Shaw’s waistband. 

Shaw snickers and circles her hips, “sounds like a party, but we’re going hiking, remember? Come and put your shoes on.”

“Hiking is not as fun as fucking,” Root points out as Shaw wriggles off her and drops off the edge of the trampoline.

“Accurate, but if you’re good and make it to the top of the mountain maybe we can do both,” Shaw winks at her and saunters back to the house, leaving Root to follow. 

She pads back inside, barefoot, and ducks into the bedroom to get socks. By the time she has her Walmart brand sneakers on, everyone is waiting outside the door except Shaw and John, whom Root can hear crashing through the shrubbery presumably with Bear somewhere along the path. 

She shuts the door behind her, Finch locks it, and then they all start up the trail. Everyone except Root appears to be carrying something, and Zoe catches her looking, “Shaw has your stuff too, don’t worry. She said, and I quote, “Root is going to need all her energy to make it to the peak and then also our peaks on the peak, so I will carry her water,” and then she ran off with John and Bear.”

Root falls into step with Zoe and Joss, Caleb and Romeo out front, and Finch just behind, “sounds about right.”

Zoe snickers and links arms with her, somewhat awkwardly due to the narrow and uneven path which is sloping gently upwards underfoot, “they probably want to run, anyway, crazy exercise people.”

Joss’ phone beeps and she checks it, then makes a grumpy noise, “Harper says we lost the game against KRU,” she ducks under a branch.

Root pulls a face, “ah, sorry.”

“It’s not a big deal, it’s our first loss of the season and we only drew two, so as long as we’re back and on form next week we’ll be good, right JC?” Zoe leans down to pick up a stick which she then uses to poke at the bushes.

Joss flicks her eyes to Root and smiles, “yeah, it’s fine, don’t worry about it. I knew we’d lose, but.. Still held out a little hope I guess.”

They settle into companionable silence punctuated by small and unimportant observations. The heat of the afternoon seeps into them as they stretch their legs out and increase their pace until they’re all sweating lightly. Zoe pulls a bottle of water out of her backpack and downs some of it, proffering it to Root since Shaw is nowhere in sight. 

Root takes it gratefully and is just handing it back when Bear bolts out of the trees next to them, rapidly followed by Shaw, who is _covered_ in mud, she looks like a swamp creature. Once Bear stops running in favour of trying to jump up on Finch, Root can see he’s not in much of a better state. 

Finch tries to fend an over-excited Bear off, having to bark a strong command at him when he doesn’t obey his hand signals, and then John—also coated in a thick layer of mud—trundles out of the forest and grabs Bear. 

Everyone just sort of turns and stares at the three of them, and Shaw blinks big, innocent eyes through the splashes of muck on her cheeks, “uh, we fell in an unexpected mudpond? It’s okay, we’re almost at the river!” 

The three of them smell pretty ripe, and when the team rounds the corner onto a flat, rocky plateau with a shallow and wide river streaming across it, they are sent to wash. 

Stripped down to their undies, Shaw and John coax Bear into the water and scrub him relatively clean. He gets out and shakes off close enough to Root that she gets sprinkled, where she’s lying flat on a sun-warmed rock, making her yelp. 

Shaw washes off, pins her shirt and trousers in the water with rocks to get rinsed, and crawls over to join Root, shivering and complaining loudly, “It is fucking freezing in there!”

“We’re up a mountain, what did you expect?” Root inquires, she thinks practically, pulling off her hoodie and offering it to Shaw who shakes her head.

“It’ll just get soaked, keep it til I’m a bit dryer so I have something to wear down the hill,” she grumbles, curling her arms around her legs.

On a nearby rock, Harold is drying John’s hair with what looks like his tshirt, which John then takes to rub the rest of himself, vigorously. 

Shaw smirks, “and now, one of them will have to be shirtless!” But then Romeo pulls off his thin sweater and offers it to John, making Shaw pout.

Zoe and Joss wander over and sit down, Joss hands Shaw her hoodie and Shaw grabs it, yanking it on, “you guys are the best,” she declares, curling up in the large warm fleece, knees and feet inside and all. 

Root gets to her feet and mooches over to the stream, rolling her sleeve up and fishing out the clothes. She twists them as dry as she can, and lays them out on a rock in the sun, so hopefully they won’t be completely soaked by the time they’re ready to move on, then wanders back to her original rock, carefully avoiding the water stain Shaw has created.

“How much further to the top?” She inquires.

“We’re basically there. We’re not equipped to go up the rest of the way, we’d break our ankles. But the best views are actually just over there,” Shaw points to a hillock, “and if you wanted to warm me up the best spot for that would be over there,” she grins and points in a different direction, towards a craggy rock formation, and Root raises an eyebrow.

“So you fall in the muck, have to have a mountain bath, get cold, and then think you deserve orgasms?” She sits back down, booted feet digging into the grass at the edge of her big rock.

“Yes,” Shaw declares, making Joss groan and Zoe snigger.

“Don’t let us stop you! It’s not like you couldn’t find your way back down again if we leave without you,” Zoe points out, lying down and wriggling around til she can put her head on Joss’ stomach. Joss lifts her arm up without commentary so Zoe can get settled. 

Shaw wriggles over to Root and looks up at her through her lashes, “I bet the view makes the orgasms triply good,” she wheedles, and Root snorts and gets to her feet.

“You’re insatiable. I don’t know what you did before I came along,” she grumbles goodnaturedly, stretching.

“Jerked off every day,” Zoe announces, making a frantic circling motion over her own groin and pulling a ridiculous fake orgasm face.

“She’s actually a lot pleasanter to be around nowadays,” Joss adds, shading her eyes with one hand and Shaw huffs indignantly.

“I’m just as rude as I’ve always been,” she defends herself half-heartedly, starting up the slope, taking huge steps to get over the rocky ground. 

Root waves at the girls and follows her, grabbing a handful of very exposed ass as Shaw goes over an especially high boulder, “I hope you don’t think my mouth is going on any of your disgusting swamp parts,” she has to use her hands to get through a particularly rough section, the trail basically just a crack between two rocks, and then they're through and a grassy slope peels away underfoot, leading down to a sheer dropoff a hundred metres away, beyond which sprawls forested mountain and in the far distance, the glint of cars on a road. It’s breathtaking, and she grinds to a halt to admire it. 

Shaw turns and grins, looking a bit smug, “see, don’t you wanna come in my mouth looking at this fucking view?”

“...Yeah,” Root acquiesces, “you’re right, I definitely do.”


	44. The Hills are Alive With The Sound of Orgasms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning** Smut. Skip if you are not in it for the trash. Oral, anal with improv lube, fluid bonded antics, sharing is caring.

Shaw grins triumphantly, she knew that Root would be on board, kinky outdoor sex isn’t something they’ve done a huge amount of, largely due to weather considerations, but if you’re gonna fuck outdoors it may as well be on an epic mountainside after a nice hike to warm the blood. 

She makes her way to a soft looking patch of grass and hauls Joss’ hoodie over her head, “we should probably try really hard not to get jizz on Joss’ sweater,” she smirks as Root pads after her then kicks off her shoes.

“So you’re saying I should lie on my own sweater?” Root snickers, laying it out on the ground and then pulling her shirt over her head while Shaw watches appreciatively before unhooking her own bra and pulling her panties down her legs.

Root licks her lips, unbuttons her shorts and sits down on her sweater, undies still on, much to Shaw’s disappointment. Root must catch the gist because she grins and pats the fabric between her outstretched legs, “come take ‘em off with your teeth, lover. Earn your keep.”

Shaw flushes with heat, feels her skin tingling and obediently drops to her knees, bracing herself on her hands before leaning down and biting the elastic of Root’s panties. She catches a little skin, and Root gasps, winds a hand into her hair and tugs viciously enough to make Shaw’s eyes water and her pussy clench. She’s more careful this time, sucking on the material, working it between her lips and then grabbing it with her teeth before wriggling backwards, taking the underwear with her. 

Root lifts her hips, letting the panties slide down, and then kicks one leg free so she can spread, lying back on the sun warm grass and arching her back, hand still fisted in Shaw’s hair. 

The sunlight drapes over her, she’s marble white in its glare, the auburn highlights in her hair gleaming where it curls over her shoulders and onto her chest. Shaw waits on her knees, drinking in Root with her eyes until Root hauls her up forcefully so Shaw ends up pressed down the length of her, Root’s nipples at mouth level, clearly waiting for some attention.

She presses her mouth against the curve of Root’s breast, breathing in deeply, nosing at the softness before sliding her lips across to suck Root’s nipple into her mouth. Root lets out a little sigh, loosens the hand in Shaw’s hair and slides the other down her shoulder, pressing her palm flat to Shaw’s back. 

Shaw teases her nipples into aching points with her lips and tongue, the faintest hint of teeth, Root shifts and arches under her, Shaw watches her face because Root’s eyes are closed and so she can look in peace, without the pressure of eye contact, the feeling that something is expected of her that she knows isn’t there, makes her want to slide her eyes down and away. Sometimes Root makes her hold eye contact, but that’s about power and trust, not about the connection everyone seems to think comes so easily with eye contact, and Root always seems to know when that’s an okay thing to do. 

After a little while, Root flutters her eyes open and jerks her chin commandingly. Shaw can feel wetness on her belly where she’s pressed against Root, the increasingly wanting lifts of her hips, it makes a smile tug at her lips as she wriggles down. 

Root releases her hair, puts her hands behind her head and relaxes into the grass as Shaw settles between her bent legs. Her eyes are looking out over the view--on the slope as they are she can probably see Shaw’s whole body angling downwards and beyond that the mountain rolling away. And Shaw has a good up-angle view of Root’s body as well, so she’s definitely not complaining. 

“Just your mouth,” Root murmurs, raising her hips demandingly, and Shaw can’t hide a smirk as she ducks her head, taking a deep breath as she presses her lips against Root’s pussy.

Shaw can never figure out if Root really does smell as good as she thinks, or if Shaw’s just so tuned into Root’s scent that it hits something deep inside her, but either way she feels herself getting wetter instantly as she gathers the taste of Root on her tongue, “good,” Root murmurs, shifting a little, and Shaw pushes between her folds, chasing the source of Root’s flavour and pushing in as deep as she can.

Root makes a satisfying little noise, so Shaw pulls back and repeats, tongue fucking into Root slowly, as deep as she can. It pulls at the base of her tongue, starts a steady ache in her jaw, but she could give a fuck with the way Root is sighing and pushing into her mouth. 

The sun is hot on her back, blades of grass tickling her stomach and thighs in a vaguely distracting way, little stones digging into her hips and ribs, but then there’s Root. There’s Root gasping her name quietly and tensing her stomach and clenching her thighs around Shaw’s shoulders and all of the distracting little irritants fade out until Shaw thinks she wouldn’t notice an avalanche, too intent on Root’s pleasure.

She moves up a little, laves with a flat tongue over Root’s clit, absorbing the lift of her hips easily.

“Oh, fuck, Shaw,” Root exhales, and Shaw swallows the little pleased sound that bubbles up in her throat, and then Root says, “put your finger in my ass, baby,” and Shaw just about comes in her no-pants, clenching down on nothing at the mere idea of it, excitement boiling through her.

Root’s fucked her in the ass like a million times by this point, it was never even a discussion they had. The first time Root took it slow enough Shaw could have safeworded, if she wanted, but she didn’t, and clearly she was enthusiastic enough about it that Root’s mild fixation with her ass has been indulged on a large number of occasions. But Root has never even implied she might like some reciprocal anal action, and Shaw realises she’s breathing hard and squeezing her thighs together instead of taking advantage of the opportunity.

No lube, so she’ll have to improvise, but that has never been a problem for her before. Shaw pulls back a little, propped on her elbows, shifts her weight and lifts up so she can slide her index finger into her own pussy, since Root has said nothing about some classic penetration right now, she’s gotta get some slick from somewhere. She wants to make it good for Root so badly and she gasps as she works her finger in and out of herself vigorously. She’s soaked, but it’s not like she can make multiple trips. 

She never stops licking slowly over Root’s clit while she gets ready, wriggles into a better position and brings her hand back up, licking her thumb to get it as wet as possible before rubbing over Root’s asshole to warn her, warming the muscle up with the pad of her thumb. 

Root makes a delightful little choked noise, her pussy clenching under Shaw’s mouth, and Shaw hums happily, replacing her thumb with her slick index finger after a moment and gently pushing inside. 

God, it’s tight and hot and just as fucking silky soft as Shaw thought it would be, and she moans without meaning to, closing her eyes so she can’t see if Root is looking at her or not, feeling the way Root’s body shifts and tenses. She can’t really push in and out too much because of the lack-of-lube situation, but she crooks her finger gently and Root’s breathing hitches, and Shaw returns her focus to Root’s clit, trying not to get too lost in the gripping muscles around the tip of her index finger. 

She wants it to go on and on, but Root reaches down and winds her hand into Shaw’s hair, tugs her mouth up a little, in the way she does when she wants Shaw to get her off, and even more than Shaw wants to stay like this forever, she wants Root to have everything she wants, so she obediently sucks the soft bundle of nerves between her teeth and works her tongue over it in circles, the way Root likes it best. 

“Fuck, Shaw,” Root is nearly always quiet when she comes, and this time is only a mild exception, but the words do bounce off the nearby rocks in a faint echo that trickles down Shaw’s spine as she works Root through it gently, stilling her finger and pressing against her twitching clit with a soft, broad tongue.

Root’s hand clenches in her hair, in time with the pulses of her pussy, and Shaw can feel herself smiling against Root’s skin. When Root tugs, she peels away as gently as she can, eases her finger out and sits back on her heels, she knows she looks epically pleased with herself but she can’t help it.

Root grins sleepily at the look on her face, pats her chest with a lazy, uncoordinated hand, and Shaw wipes her finger off on the grass before wriggling up to lie on Root for a minute. She’s straddling Root’s thigh now though, and that brings a problem of its own as Shaw is abruptly reminded of her own arousal, startling a little moan out of her as her clit makes contact with Root’s hipbone. 

A hand lands on her hip, and for a moment Shaw thinks she’s being pushed away, but then Root shifts a little and pulls, and Shaw gets the idea, rolling her hips against Root’s thigh with a quiet groan as she finally gets the good pressure where she needs it. 

Root noses into her hair, and Shaw leans up for a kiss, the first since they started fucking, she realises as their mouths meet, hot and slippery, mimicking the feel of her cunt grinding against Root’s leg. 

It doesn’t take too long for Root to gain enough control of her limbs to roll Shaw over, hovering above her with her hair wild and tangled, blocking out the sun like a theatre curtain around their own private stage. 

Shaw oomphs as her back hits the ground hard, little bruising points of contact sending fire flicking down her nerves as Root pushes her hand between their bodies, sliding right into Shaw without a second of hesitation, palm settling against her clit. 

The fingers filling her abruptly make Shaw’s eyes slam closed, she leans her head back, hearing the sound of Root’s ragged breathing filling her ears as hard fingers drive deeply into her, crooking and pulling against her gspot. 

It’s an embarrassingly short period of time before Root bites down on her neck in the same place she marked her in the bathroom, and Shaw comes in a hot, violent rush. Her whole body clenches and ripples with tension that rocks through her until Root stills her fingers inside, palm pressed tight against Shaw’s swollen clit until she stops pulsing.

Root hums happily as she pulls out and sprawls on top of Shaw, face still in the crook of her neck. 

Shaw has to move enough to clear the hair off her face so she can breathe, but then it seems easier to just curl her arm around Root’s slender back and relax for a while than get up and do anything.

***

Pulling her wet boxers back on after a good orgasm is one of the more unpleasant sensations Shaw has ever experienced, and she’s pouting as they traipse back over the rocks on only slightly shaky legs. The plateau next to the river is empty save for a packet of wet wipes in the middle of the path. So Shaw cleans up and then walks down the mountain naked except for her boots, Joss’ hoodie and a huge smirk. And even if, during the two hour descent, Root takes the chance to open up a little bit about how she's doing, it still doesn't mean that Zoe is anything other than an interfering meddler. 


	45. Cleaning is Sexy?

The sky is shading to delicate purple-gray as they mooch down the path to the cabin, the air carrying a lot more chill out of the direct sunlight. Shaw has gooseflesh down her legs, and Root kind of wants to bundle her up over her shoulder and jog the rest of the way like some sort of caveman, but Shaw would definitely protest, and probably she weighs too much for that to be a practical decision anyway. 

Root is feeling kind of buoyant, the walk down the mountain turned out to be the perfect doing-something-not-too-much activity for talking about kind of serious stuff, and the judicious growling and protective motions of Shaw responding to Root telling her more about NOVA and what happened with Control feel like balm on the raw bits still rubbing inside her chest. 

It’s hard to know what meeting with Control is going to feel like, what seeing her again is going to set off, but having already had that short FaceTime conversation Root thinks she has a handle on it. And Shaw thinks she’s gonna be right outside the door the whole time whether Root likes it or not. 

By the time they get back to the cabin, Shaw’s naked legs are covered in mud flecks and little scratches from the brambles, and she heads straight for the shower while Root bumbles into the kitchen to fix them some snacks. 

The rest of the crew is sprawled out in various states of stoned disarray in the living area, watching one of the Resident Evil movies, Root can’t tell which one from a single scene, unlike Shaw who wanders in in boxers and a tshirt, her hair curling damply down her back and exclaims, “fucking Extinction, nice one!” Before piling onto the sofa, forcibly moving Zoe and Joss over by dint of wriggling into the sliver of space between Zoe and the arm. 

With large amounts of oofing, comfort is achieved, and Shaw slings one leg over the arm of the chair and rests the knee of the other up against Root’s shoulder once she sits down after handing Shaw a plate. Shaw settles into watching the movie and yelling stuff at the screen through a mouthful of chilli whenever anything ‘exciting’ happens. 

By the time the credits roll, Zoe has her feet over Shaw’s lap and Shaw has her hand in Root’s hair, and a pleasant drug-induced buzz is tingling through Root’s system. 

Finch gets to his feet, yawning, “so, we leave at eightish tomorrow?” He enquires, and John nods.

“Yeah, if we wanna be back for soccer practise,” he struggles to his feet as well, raking his hand through his dishevelled hair, “which we do, right, Joss?”

“I told Harper we would be, and she told coach we were feeling better, so yeah,” Joss nods, also getting up. 

Zoe takes the opportunity to slump sideways across the whole sofa, “I don’t wanna go to bed,” she complains.

Joss snorts, “well, if you throw up at practise, remember this moment,” and tucks her hair behind her ear before heading to the kitchen and starting to organise stuff. 

Root realises they should probably tidy the cabin a bit, and also hauls herself to her feet, picking up the joint from the ashtray en route and taking a drag before starting to gather dishes and bottles that have been abandoned in the living space.

“Ooh, cleaning. That’s sexy!” Zoe declares, flinging her arms behind her head and making a grab for Root as she passes. 

Root laughs and avoids being grabbed fairly easily, “why don’t you get off your ass and help, then?” She inquires, and Zoe pouts.

“Fine,” she grumbles, slithering off the sofa onto the floor and starting to pick up the papers that have been scattered on the table for the past few days.

“Urgh,” Shaw groans, and joins in, soon followed by Caleb and Romeo as John and Harry head outside to clear the patio of beer bottles etc. 

After a few minutes Romeo stops tidying in order to put on some music, and they jam out a little bit while they set the cabin back to it’s rightful state before heading to bed.

***

The next day dawns bright and beautiful, and the idea of spending the whole of it in the back of a windowless van is pretty depressing, but the team figures out a system to make sure everyone gets some front seat privileges. Before they find a place to ditch the trash and recycling the back of the van is very unpleasant, and when they pull in for lunch in a small town everyone is grateful for the fresh air.

The drive is long and uneventful, and Root declines an invitation to watch the soccer practise with Finch in favour of heading back to her apartment to pick up some equipment to bring to the Casa so she can do some work there. 

Shaw flatly refuses to let her go alone, and _then_ refuses to go to soccer practise until Romeo and Caleb agree to accompany Root to her house. 

They drop her back at the Casa after everyone’s left already, so she lets herself in with Shaw’s keys and makes herself at home in the kitchen at the table, putting in a solid couple of hours before the banging of the front door alerts her to the return of the Team.

After ordering takeaway, Shaw drags Root upstairs and they fall into bed. 

It’s been a long day, and neither of them have the energy for any adult rated activities, but they fall asleep naked anyway. 

***

Root wakes up to a loud clatter, rolls over in surprise. Zoe is clinging to the doorway, wide-eyed.

Beside Root, Shaw sits up, the blankets dropping down to her waist, “ _what?_ ”

“Martine’s been sentenced.”


	46. The Worst Week of Your Life, Huh?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning** So this chapter is Martine getting sentenced and therefore there is brief discussion of the events that led to her being prosecuted in the first place. I don't think it's especially dramatic or emotional, as really I'm just tying up a story line, but I thought I'd warn anyway :)

Shaw has a moment of total dislocation, like she’s in two completely different places at once, and one of those places is a swirling mess. 

Root’s hand lands on her knee and snaps her back into her body, and she blinks slowly.

“We’ll be right down,” Root says to Zoe, and Zoe nods, slipping out and closing the door behind her. 

Shaw realises she’s practically vibrating with tension, and takes a deep breath, stretching her hands out of the fists they’ve curled into.

“Not the best wakeup I’ve ever had,” Root mutters, curling her hand slowly around Shaw’s knee, her movement overly deliberate.

Shaw shakes her head, trying to get with the program, “this might be the worst fucking week of my life,” she grumbles, putting her hand on top of Root’s and then wriggling towards the end of the bed. 

She’s up and half-dressed before she realises Root hasn’t moved, and she turns around, cocking an eyebrow in question.

Root’s watching her with a dopey look on her face, and it makes Shaw’s belly squirm, so she balls up a tshirt and lobs it towards her.

“Worst week of your life, huh?” Root has a little grin tugging at the corners of her mouth, and Shaw rolls her eyes, embarrassed enough she can feel her ears heat.

“Don’t read into it, it’s just a thing people say,” she mumbles without heat, lowering her eyes but watching Root out of her peripherals as she pulls another tshirt out of the drawer. 

“Right,” Root sounds altogether too smug for someone waiting to hear what happened to the woman who shot her, but, Shaw realises, Root did deal with that pretty fast, all things considered. Shaw experiences a brief flash of warm pride in Root’s resilience, and it drives some of the discomfort in her guts out. She gestures at Root like ‘hurry up’, and Root nods, pulls her shirt on and slides out of bed, taking the shorts Shaw hands her.

“Zoe didn’t even make one comment about our nudity,” she points out as she pulls the shorts on, stretching.

“You seem very... calm,” Shaw scrapes her hair into something vaguely resembling a ponytail before opening the door, a heavy knot curling in her stomach. She’s not even sure she wants to know. 

Root slides past her, into the corridor, side-eyes Shaw on the way past and makes a complicated facial expression that Shaw can’t put a name on, “I don’t... really care? I mean, as long as she didn’t get acquitted, and I don’t see how that could happen with the evidence of what she did to us, even if you pull Claire out of the equation. I don’t even know if they found her body, but Martine confessed,” she starts down the stairs, “they might argue diminished capacity, I guess, but I doubt she’ll get off. I’m not... I don’t have enough energy left to give a shit about it...” She trails off, looking over her shoulder as she rounds the banister, shrugs, “and I know better than to ask you how you’re feeling when you’ve got that look on your face,” she gives Shaw a lopsided grin that lifts some of the weight pulling at Shaw’s insides.

Shaw manages a nod, and jogs down the last two stairs, having stopped on them without realising, and pushes Root gently in the back, so she moves forward, into the living room. 

Everyone’s already there, the TV paused on muted with subtitles that currently read _'Martine Rousseau was charged with'_ , Harry in his chair with the control, John between his legs with his hands tight around his knees, pulling the fabric of his slacks up so Shaw can see his ankles. 

Zoe and Joss are pressed against each end of the sofa, clearly meaning for Shaw and Root to squash between them, and after a moment’s hesitation Shaw plops down next to Joss, who tries to hug her way less often than Zoe does but has a solid line in light knee contact during emergencies. 

Root folds into the space between her and Zoe, pressed up against Shaw’s thigh. Her hand hovers over Shaw’s leg for a moment like she’s gonna grab it, but then she puts it down carefully on her own knee and Shaw huffs, irritated and makes a grab for it. No, of course she doesn’t want to hold Root’s hand, but Root clearly does, and her fingers curl around Shaw’s so tightly she’s sure she’s gonna have blood supply issues soon. 

Harry glances across at them, and Root nods, short and sharp. He unpauses the TiVo and the news program starts rolling again.

 _'one count of homicide, based on a confession by the defendant and two counts of attempted homicide. The two surviving victims declined to appear in court, their statements were used as part of the prosecutor’s case,'_ beside her, Root flinches mid-sentence, and Shaw can’t tell if it’s at the title of victim, or the announcement that they declined to appear. She can see Zoe has tight hold of Root’s other hand, is rubbing little circles on the back of it with her thumb. 

Swallowing, Shaw gently attempts to do the same, moves her thumb in a little circle against Root’s bone-white, tense hand. For all her announcement of not having enough energy to care, her body language is saying she does. She relaxes a little as Shaw strokes her, uncomfortably aware of her own sweaty hands, and just wanting the announcer to get to the point.

_”and we’re hearing a verdict here now... yes, it's just been confirmed, Martine Rousseau has been found guilty of the murder of Claire Mahoney, and... oh, this is interesting, one count of attempted homicide. She’s been acquitted of the second attempt, but that’s all the information I have at this juncture. The judge has sentenced her to twenty years in medium security, so she may serve fifteen with good behaviour, and that’s all I have...”_

Harold mutes the TV again, the subtitles continuing to race along the bottom of the screen. Shaw doesn’t read them, but Root is still staring at the moving images. 

There’s a thick silence in the room, like the air is suddenly jellified, and then Zoe leans forwards, “well, if it wasn’t eight a.m. I’d say let’s get wasted...” 

Root huffs a quiet laugh, her hand twitching in Shaw’s. Shaw lets go slowly, peeling her hand away, “we’ve been wasted all week,” Root points out, rubbing her hand on her own thigh, “and.. Fuck her. It’s done, it’s over, she’s going to jail, and even though that will probably make her into an even worse person, she wasn’t very good to start with. Thanks for coming to get us, Zoe. Shaw, come with me.” 

The note of command is clear in her voice, and it shivers through Shaw’s bones. Root slides off the sofa, and Shaw hastens to follow suit, muttering, “yeah, thanks,” to the room, because waking her up and waiting for them so they could all see it together... that was nice of them. 

Zoe winks at her, John gives her his best bro-nod, where he means “I’ve got your back and I will fucking end anyone who tries anything,” and Shaw nods back before heading upstairs after Root.


	47. Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning** Emo angsty smut. Read in safe emotional space, and please check in with 'more notes' if you would like a detailed content warning.

Root doesn’t even wait for her to get through the door, yanks her by the shirt, shuts the door behind her and then slams her against it, eyes lit with reckless energy. 

Shaw’s shoulder blades hit the wood and the impact makes her grunt, pain singing through her nerves. 

She moans when Root yanks her head to one side and mouths down her throat, trying to mentally catch up with her body’s reaction. Root’s teeth dig in, and then she licks over the mark, “you good?” 

Shaw’s not really sure what she’s asking—if she means with the verdict Martine got, in general, or good to go right now, but her hips are already pushing forwards into Root’s body and it doesn’t seem to matter all that much so she mumbles, “yeah,” and Root grabs her wrists, squeezing so hard her fingers tingle and blood pools accordingly in her groin. 

Her hands are yanked above her head, Root holds her wrists there with one hand, her palm pressing violently enough that Shaw feels like she can struggle a little, the sensation of being restrained sparking heat down her veins to curl at the base of her spine. 

Root uses her other hand to push her own shorts down, then Shaw’s, kicking them off and pressing back against her, skin to skin. She wedges her leg between Shaw’s thighs and rolls her hips, a low groan escaping her mouth, her eyes closing.

Shaw arches against her, trying to get friction between her own legs, her nipples hard and scraped by the movement of her tshirt fabric as Root wriggles against her.

Root rides her thigh for a few minutes, long enough for Shaw to feel her getting wet, and then she pulls back, opening her eyes and leaning in to bite Shaw’s lip, hand still wrapped firmly around her wrists. 

There’s something in her face that looks a little off to Shaw, looks different, maybe, but there’s heat in her eyes and she’s sucking Shaw’s lip between her teeth and the spike of pain shoots down her throat and makes her gasp, eyes watering at the sudden sting. Root hums in satisfaction, pulls back, taking Shaw’s now swollen lip with her and then releasing it with a wet pop. 

“On the bed,” her voice is low and demanding, she lets go of Shaw’s wrists and Shaw hastens to obey the command, feeling slightly off-balance but not able to figure out why, probably just all the shit that’s been swirling around in her, she probably just needs to focus, to get in the moment with Root and let Root take her out of her head, take care of her like she always does. 

Shaw doesn’t know how Root wants her, so she lies down, puts her arms up above her head and grabs the headboard, curling her fingers around it. Root doesn’t even look up at her hands, like she usually does, usually she watches Shaw grab on with a look of pleased excitement, like she’s unwrapping a present. Right now her eyeline implies she’s staring at Shaw’s stomach, but Shaw can’t feel the weight of her gaze at all, and it makes something flutter unpleasantly in her belly.

“Root,” she mumbles, wanting something to make the weirdness she can feel hovering over them go away, “Root, please,” she’s not asking for anything specific, but Root doesn’t even look at her, just scrapes her fingernails down Shaw’s ribcage.

“Did I say you could talk?” Her voice sounds strange too—distant—and something cold tangles itself around Shaw’s intestines at the look on Root’s face as she slides her hands down, pushes Shaw’s legs open.

“Root, wait,” she says, surprising herself, but Root ignores her, digs her fingers into Shaw’s hipbones and the pain sparks through her but it doesn’t turn, doesn’t feel like pleasure, doesn’t feel _good_. It’s like Root isn’t even in the room.

Her blood feels fizzy and weird as Root leans down and drags her teeth over Shaw’s thigh, but her fingers are coiled around the headboard still, she hasn’t moved, and suddenly she wants to move, wants to be away from whatever this is, and she lets go and squirms back on the bed, pulling her legs up and out of Root’s grip. 

That gets her attention, Root looks up, and Shaw doesn’t recognise the expression she’s wearing, but it makes her feel sick, and she moves further backwards, “red. Red. Root. This is red,” the words come out rushed, a bit panicked, like she’s not quite sure Root is going to even hear her, but after a split second a look of total horror washes over Root’s face and she pulls back like Shaw’s burned her, almost falling off the bed. 

She gets up, moves away, her arms wrapped around her chest, not looking at Shaw, and that doesn’t feel better and Shaw doesn’t know what to do to fix it, Root is the one who’s supposed to know what to do to fix it. 

Silence so heavy it feels like it’s crushing Shaw’s chest fills the room, and Root’s squeezing her arms across her chest so tightly that Shaw thinks she probably can’t breathe properly, but Shaw can’t breathe properly either, can’t make the words come out, and she’s about three seconds from just running out of the room to escape all the _things_ when Root opens her mouth.

“God, Shaw, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” her eyes are down and her mouth is small and tight and Shaw has never, not even once, seen Root look this off-balance.

“Root...” Shaw mutters, not able to find the right words to ask what just happened, where Root went and why, if she’s okay. The weird energy that was in the room with them has shifted away from Shaw feeling like it’s her that’s out-of-step; Root looks like she’s _present_ , but she doesn’t look okay. 

Her face is pale and Shaw thinks she can see tears sparkling in her eyes, and it hurts something deep in her sternum, squeezing and squeezing, and she’s off the bed before she even realises she’s moving. 

Root flinches away from her, pulls back, and Shaw stops in her tracks, trying to figure out what’s broken and how to fix it, “Root?” 

It comes out as a question, and Root ducks her head, won’t look Shaw in the eyes, keeps her arms curled around her own body and her knuckles are white where she’s gripping her elbows and Shaw can barely breathe with the pressure of wrongness, so she reaches out to try and uncurl Root’s fingers, make her let go. 

Root pulls back, pressed against the wall now, tears tracking down her cheeks, and Shaw _hates it_ , she hates whatever is going on, and she wants Root to feel better, to be here with her, so she does the thing she knows how to do, she pushes forward, leans up for Root’s mouth.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” the words come out on their own, and she presses her lips against Root’s throat, the only part she can reach, and Root trembles against her. 

It takes a few minutes to pry Root’s hands loose, and then she just drops them at her sides, but Shaw keeps pushing closer, pushes Root against the wall gently-gently, pressing into her and murmuring that it’s okay, it’s okay, until Root finally puts her arms around her and Shaw shivers in relief, keeps pressing her mouth against the warm, damp skin of Root’s throat, tasting her tears.

Root mutters ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ over and over again, and something in Shaw’s chest feels cracked and sharp, so she keeps telling Root it’s okay, leads her over to the bed, pushes her down and climbs on top of her, trying to make Root feel with her body that she didn’t hurt Shaw, that everything will be okay if she just comes back, but Root won’t even touch her, just lies there, shaking.

Shaw doesn’t know what to do, so she just keeps pressing her lips against every bit of Root that she can reach, trying to convey without words all the things that are screwed up inside her, and after a while, Root finally, finally turns her head and lets Shaw kiss her. 

Her mouth tastes salty, she’s still crying, and she won’t touch Shaw, but this is definitely an improvement, and Shaw does her very, very best to communicate that into the kiss, nudging Root’s mouth open and kissing her as tenderly and softly as she knows how. 

She strokes her hand down Root’s side, trying to comfort her, trying to change whatever Root is feeling into something better, something good. 

Root’s breathing hitches in a wet sob, and Shaw pulls back to murmur, “it’s okay, you didn’t hurt me, I’m okay, we’re okay,” and Root shakes her head, her eyes determinedly shut, but still leaking salty tears down her cheeks. 

“Root, you stopped. I safeworded and you stopped, it’s okay. You stop when I say ‘red’, that’s the rule, and you stopped, it’s okay,” Shaw thinks she’s probably doing a terrible job at this, at comfort, and she wishes she was better with words, could explain that, yes, she wasn’t okay, but she is now, because she let Root know she wasn’t okay and Root stopped immediately, and that’s what Shaw needed, and Root had her, like she always does, and Shaw trusts her, and knows her, and she’s _fine_ now, and Root doesn’t need to cry anymore. 

She wriggles so she can press kisses against the curve of Root’s jaw, her leg slotting between Root’s naked thighs, and Root makes a little noise, inadvertently arching, and her face softens out of the hard lines of sadness it’s stuck in, and Shaw likes that better so she rolls her hips, and Root’s eyebrows pull together and she swallows heavily. 

Root’s hands are down at her sides, fingers twitching in the sheets as Shaw pushes down on her, licking a path down her throat to suck gently on the soft skin over her carotid, and Root’s breathing hitches again but this time it’s not quite a sob, and Shaw hums happily, feeling better already. 

She butts her head against Root’s jaw, kisses her lower lip, leans back a little to look at her face, “Root, open your eyes. You’re always telling me not to hide. You don’t get to hide either, okay, open your eyes for me, please.”

Root keeps them shut for a heartbeat longer, then peels them open slowly, sparkling with tears and Shaw nods in approval, “hi,” and it startles a wet little laugh out of Root, which loosens the band around Shaw’s chest almost completely, replacing it with a calm feeling, a sense of doing something right, so she gives Root a little smile, leans down to kiss her, and this time Root kisses back properly, but her hands stay at her sides instead of coming up to hold Shaw, and Shaw thinks she’s scared to touch her and she has an idea.

She kisses Root deeply for a moment, then sits up, moving to straddle her hips, rolling them down so Root knows she’s still here, still in this same moment, and then she carefully picks up Root’s hand, and lifts it over Root’s head, gently curling Root’s fingers around the headboard, before doing the other one so Root’s holding on with both hands to the wooden top. 

 

“What colour are you, Root?” Shaw asks, with a little grin tugging at the corner of her mouth at the sheer role-reversal of her checking in with Root like this, and Root makes a sound that isn’t really a laugh.

“Yellow,” she mumbles, after a moment, and Shaw nods, pulling her shirt off over her head and then leaning forwards and pressing her mouth to Root’s knuckles on the headboard, kissing her way down to her wrist, along her forearm, her elbow, her bicep, moving her shirt out the way so she can keep trailing kisses over her shoulder, gentle, reassuring kisses.

“What colour are you, Root?” She murmurs into the soft skin over Root’s collarbone, and this time the laugh is a little less tragic, a little more real.

“Yellow,” she says, more clearly, and Shaw grins against her skin and moves the neck of Root’s shirt so she can kiss along her collarbone, to the other side, making her way down Root’s arm, ending the journey at her knuckles, sucking Root’s thumb into her mouth briefly and gnawing on it before asking again.

“What colour are you, Root?” 

“Yellow,” Root says, with a hint of a grin teasing at the edge of her voice, and Shaw nods approvingly, wriggling and pushing Root’s shirt up so she can start kissing her chest, avoiding her breasts, she makes her way down Root’s sternum with her mouth, traces her ribcage, moves down to kiss her stomach, the soft curves of her hips.

“What colour are you, Root?” 

Root’s voice sounds almost completely normal when she replies, “chartreuse,”, and Shaw hums happily, murmurs ‘nerd’ into her hipbone and works her way down to Root’s thigh, starting at the top and making a pathway of soft kisses all the way down, smiling when Root squirms as Shaw’s tongue finds the ticklish spot behind her knee before continuing all the way down to her ankle and swapping to the other leg, working her way back up slowly, pausing at Root’s hipbone.

“What colour are you, Root?” She asks, licking over the ridge of bone, and Root shivers under her mouth.

“Green, I’m green, Shaw,” it’s a whisper, and Shaw nods, mouthing over her skin with her words.

“Don’t let go. If you let go, I’ll stop,” with a teeny hint of a smirk she can hear in her own voice, because yes, right now she’s totally topping Root, but it feels like she needs it, needs to let go for a while, trust Shaw for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These kids are not in a good emotional place in this scene. Warning for Not Good Sex. Shaw actually has to safeword, and there's a good bit of difficult navigation to get around. I promise everything is gonna be okay though! Even though it's Shaw that safewords, it is Root who is Not Okay in this chapter, and Shaw does a really good job of helping her with it, but there is definitely some angst


	48. I'm Not Sure You Understand the Concept of Begging...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning** smut. Shaw topping Root. Self restraint, denial. 
> 
> If you're not reading the smut I would recommend reading the last section of this chapter (after the line) as there is a bit of a development. 
> 
> Special thanks to [ aliceinkinkland ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aliceinkinkland) and [ swu ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/swu/pseuds/swu) for the beta read of these last two chapters which I have been flailing about for a week. I doubt this would have happened without you, and it definitely wouldn't have been nearly as good.

Root curls her fingers tighter around the headboard at Shaw’s words, nodding, and Shaw gives her the faintest scrap of a smirk that settles into Root’s bones, repeating the mantra Shaw wrote up and down her body with her mouth, ‘it’s okay, it’s okay’. 

She still doesn’t really know what happened, it’s as though she was out of her body, not connected at all to what was happening and then Shaw was saying ‘red, red’, and Root’s whole world collapsed in on her, but she’s steadying now. 

Her thoughts are abruptly cut off by a warm mouth pressing against the tendon standing proud with tension next to her pussy, Shaw nips at it gently, and Root shivers, almost releasing the headboard automatically before she remembers to hold on, just hold on and let Shaw take care of her. 

Fucking right now is probably a terrible idea, she should probably stop Shaw and they should talk about it, but fuck if Shaw didn’t just do an amazing job pulling Root back to herself, and Root just wants to fall into her, to stop drifting out into a weird, weightless and greasy place full of thoughts that make her want to shut off completely. She shouldn’t shut off from Shaw, she won’t, if she can help it. 

They’ve been through so much together, found something so good in amongst their jagged edges. Both sharp enough to cut most people who get too close, but somehow they slot together so well. They’re better together, Root knows. They’re still whole without each other, they don’t need each other to keep going, but they’re better together. And really, isn’t that the whole point?

Shaw makes Root feel good, feel safe, feel like she’s actually part of the human race, not just watching it stream by in confusion. She hasn’t had that since Hanna. Someone who makes her feel real. 

Maybe sensing she’s getting lost in her head again, Shaw digs her teeth into Root’s thigh, hard enough to make her hiss, drag her back to the present moment. She blinks, holding eye contact until Shaw nods against her mouthful of flesh and closes her eyes, sucking hard enough on the soft skin of Root’s thigh that Root feels like she can feel the blood being drawn to the surface. 

Sure enough, when Shaw releases her, there’s a purple mark left behind her, and Shaw smirks at her with a devilishly pleased look on her face before kissing her way over top of Root’s pussy to the other leg, making a matching hickey, this time watching Root’s face while she sucks. 

Root groans, squeezes her thighs together around Shaw’s shoulders, trying as hard as she can not to be pushy, to let Shaw take the lead and just relax under her.

Shaw hums a negative, pushes her hand up and pats Root’s thigh until she lowers it back to the bed, nothing violent about her guidance, but certainty in her movements. She lifts her head up.

“What colour are you, Root?” She inquires, cheeky grin on her face, her eyes sparkling, and Root is so, so glad to see the pleasure she’s taking in this, her own smile spreads over her face. 

“Green, sweetie. I’m green,” and Shaw twists her mouth into a naughty looking smirk. 

“Gonna make you beg,” she promises, and Root grins, twitching an eyebrow, shuffling her hips down the bed a little.

“Oh, is that right?” She flexes her fingers around the headboard, and Shaw nods.

“Yeap. Or we’ll be here alllllll day. We both know which one of us has more self control,” the way she says it makes it clear that she sure as shit believes it’s her. She lowers her mouth again, copying Root’s signature tease of kissing the spot right above the clit, but instead of a light touch like Root usually indulges in, this is a wet, slow kiss that bursts fire through Root's stomach. 

Shaw makes out with the base of her clit for so long Root forgets how to breathe, air catching in her throat as she tries not to moan, trying to control the lift of her hips, fingers clenching around the headboard, arm muscles knotted and tight.

She can see the smirk on Shaw’s face in the corners of her eyes. It drags a groan out of her as Shaw scrapes lightly with her teeth and then pulls back, props herself on her elbows and runs a teasing finger down the length of Root’s pussy.

“You’re all wet,” she observes in fake shock, and Root growls in the back of her throat, hips twitching. 

It’s hard not to let go of the headboard, not to grab Shaw’s hair and force her mouth down to where she needs it, but Root swallows those urges, forces herself to wait. She’s not great with foreplay, usually pretty orgasm-centric when it comes to being touched, but this is Shaw, and Shaw wants this, and Root thinks she’d do anything Shaw asked of her, so she takes a deep breath and nods, “that’s not surprising, really,” she breathes.

Shaw licks her lips, bites her bottom lip and grins up at her before pressing her mouth to the side of Root’s pussy, pulling the soft skin of her labia into her mouth, rhythmically sucking and swirling her tongue over the tender flesh, so close to Root’s clit it makes her feel like her whole blood supply is being yanked into her pussy, her breath coming in hitched little gasps.

After a few long moments, Shaw switches sides, repeating the same motions and Root groans deep in her chest, “fuck,” she moans, unable to swallow it.

“I’m not sure you understand the concept of begging,” Shaw murmurs, licking a long, slow swipe over Root’s clit that makes her hips jerk upwards and an involuntarily shiver race through her whole body. 

She gives in, “fuck, Shaw, please. Please, lover, put your mouth on me,” she groans it out, lifting her hips up for Shaw’s mouth, and Shaw grins in triumph before doing just that.

Usually she follows Root’s lead when she’s going down on her. Root doesn’t like to be teased, really, isn’t a huge fan of waiting for what she wants, but Shaw obviously isn’t planning on speeding up her full body foreplay anytime soon. 

A soft, warm tongue traces the outlines of her pussy, navigating around every fold and dip with lazy rolls and no sense of urgency. Root’s hands hurt from holding onto the headboard so tightly, but she needs the ache in her knuckles to remind her not to let go.

Shaw smiles into her pussy and licks her way in, making Root’s hips jump and dance as her whole body tenses against the wave of pleasure and Shaw hums happily as Root pants in the effort to relax into the sensations.

Shaw draws it out for a long time, stringing Root out until she’s a heaving mess, her eyes squeezed tightly closed and sweat dripping from behind her knees onto the sheets.

Fingers tease against her entrance, sending lightning through her spine, and when Root opens her eyes, Shaw is watching her. She twitches an eyebrow in question, and Root can’t take it any more, so she pants, “green, green, please, Sameen,” and then Shaw slides in slowly. 

Root’s so wet that the first finger hardly touches her, and then Shaw must slide another finger in because she’s full and she’s coming all at once, throwing her head back and letting go with a soft, choked cry.

* * *

When she comes back down, Shaw’s leaning her head on Root’s thigh with a pleased expression on her face, “you can let go now,” she says, and Root slowly uncurls her fingers, feeling the fierce ache of self-restraint all the way down her arms, into her shoulders. 

She reaches down tentatively, and Shaw lifts up to push into her hand, so Root slides her fingers into her hair, fiddling with it gently while the ends of her orgasm fade out, leaving her feeling heavy and satisfied and finally calm in her body. 

“That’s the first time I’ve ever gotten three fingers in you,” Shaw grins, crawling up Root’s body, seemingly completely over the emotional turmoil that precipitated the whole situation, and Root huffs a quiet laugh, curling up on her side.

Shaw pushes up behind her, wrapping her arms around Root’s belly and kissing her shoulder blade, “it’s nap time.”

“Don’t you have class?” Root mumbles, wriggling back so she’s even closer in Shaw’s hold.

“I’ll email them and tell them the woman who shot my girlfriend got sentenced today. I’m sure they’ll cope,” Shaw replies. 

Root can feel her lips moving against her skin, and it takes a second before the words sink in. _girlfriend_.

Shaw must feel her realisation somehow, because she nips gently at Root’s back and bends her knee so it’s pressed up against the back of Root’s thigh, her legs not long enough to snug in any closer, “spy movies movies lead me to believe rescuing you from an evil world domination plot makes it official. Problem?” There’s a hint of a smile in her voice, and Root finally relaxes completely, tension seeping out of her bones.

“No problem,” Root folds her hand carefully over Shaw's and determinedly only thinks of the warmth of skin pressed against her back, the feel of Shaw breathing on her shoulder. It helps. 

Shaw huffs in agreement, and pulls the duvet over them both with one hand before settling it back over Root’s stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am totally awed and grateful by the response to the last chapter. Thank you so much for the jump in kudos, and all the comments that y'all left. 
> 
> I was nervous about these two chapters and how the characterisation would come through and I'm delighted that it worked well for people (so far! Here's hoping today's is also good :D). And thank you as well to those of you who've been sharing stories with me, I'm honoured and touched.


	49. Is Frankensexual A Thing?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **content warning** ZOE FIGURED OUT HOW GAY SHE IS.

Root is still asleep when Shaw wakes up, and she stays with her for a bit before she gets too wriggly and knows that she’ll wake Root up if she stays in bed, so she squirms out from under her and wanders over to the desk to start one of her readings. 

It’s hard to concentrate, though, not in a bad way—not necessarily—but there’s a lot churning around in her mind. She thinks she did okay with Root’s... with whatever happened in Root’s head just now, but even though she’s sleeping at the moment, Shaw thinks she’s gonna need a lot more time and support to deal with everything that happened. 

Clearly Martine getting sentenced right off the back of the brutal week they’ve had was enough to send Root spiralling. It makes Shaw wonder if Root needs to talk to someone who isn’t Shaw, who's better with that kind of thing, and she makes a face before getting to her feet, pulling some clothes on and sneaking out of the room.

She knocks lightly on Zoe’s door when she hears music coming from inside, the Decemberists, she thinks. 

“Enter at your own risk,” Zoe calls, and Shaw opens the door.

Zoe’s sprawled across her bed, on her front, dividing skittles into colour specific piles on top of paragraphs in a text book, she looks up and grins at Shaw, “howdy-doody, friend of mine.”

Shaw raises an eyebrow and joins her on the bed, sitting down leaning against the wall on the long side, “hey. Canni talk to you?” 

 

She feels a bit awkward, but Zoe is the easiest person to talk to about some stuff—John is the best person to talk to about sport and violence, Joss is the best person to talk to about practical stuff and being a functional adult, and Zoe is the best person to talk to about emotional things and sex.

“Always. I love it when you use your mouth,” Zoe waggles her eyebrows and offers Shaw a yellow skittle.

Shaw snorts and takes the skittle, throwing it in the air and catching it in her mouth before responding, “I don’t think Root is okay, and I don’t know what to do to help.”

With a thoughtful sniff, Zoe spins around, careful not to upset her skittle piles, which is part of one of Zoe’s weird-ass studying habits—colour coded candy on top of specific things she wants to remember. She sits up and moves the textbook onto the bedside table before turning around in a much more flaily fashion now that the bed isn't full of artfully balanced study-candy, “well, I mean, yeah she’s probably not okay right now. Who would be? I’m barely doing okay. But from what I’ve seen you’re doing a good job at helping her deal. Did something happen?”

Shaw thinks for a minute, trying to decide if telling Zoe is appropriate, and then decides that up to a point it is because Zoe is Shaw’s best friend and Shaw needs backup right now. 

Zoe waits patiently until Shaw starts to talk. 

“We, uh.. We came upstairs after the Martine stuff? And Root kinda grabbed me, which would usually be fine but it was weird, and I dunno we were making out and stuff, but everything felt off so I told her to stop and she did and then she cried a lot and yeah. She’s not okay.”

“Are you okay?” Zoe inquires delicately, eyeing Shaw with a calculating expression that makes Shaw a little squirmy. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. It just wasn’t, uh, good consent, I guess. We were just out of sync. She stopped as soon as I told her to.”

“Then what? When she was crying?” Zoe must figure out that she’s paying too much direct attention to Shaw ‘cause she shifts to the skittle packet abandoned on the bed, folding it neatly into a triangle.

“Well.. she was really upset, and I uh, helped calm her down?” It feels like going into detail there would maybe be a violation of Root’s privacy, Shaw isn’t sure, so chooses to skate over the details, “and then we had a nap, and then I woke up and came to talk to you.” 

Zoe hmms, throwing the now-triangular skittle packet across the room where it bounces off the garbage can, “I don’t think her having a good cry is anything but for the best, really. And if you helped calm her down enough to nap then you were probably doing a really good job,” she flicks her eyes to Shaw for a moment, “like, honestly, just staying there instead of bailing was probably the best thing you could have done. It’s gonna take her a while to sort through everything, but as long as she knows you’re there for it—you’re sticking around? That’s the thing to do, Shaw. Make sure she knows you’re sticking around.” 

Shaw nods, bending her legs so she can wrap her hands around her legs and lean her chin on them, “I have no idea what I’m doing, though.”

Zoe laughs and Shaw looks over in surprise, “none of us do, dumbass. You’re good at being a friend, Shaw, whether you think so or not. You’re just... more with the actions than the words. But that’s okay. You know Root really well, I’m sure you’re doing a good job. You do with me.”

“Oh,” says Shaw, suddenly feeling a little silly, fiddling with her socks, “but you always know what to say, and stuff.”

“Well I’m a fucking genius, Shaw, you know that. But like... think about John.”

“Urgh, why?” Shaw snarks.

“Because when you’re feeling fucked up, what does he do?”

“Take me to bars and plies me with whisky until he either has to drag me out of a fight or carry me home. Or both.” 

“Exactly. Would you say he’s a good friend?” Zoe inquires, wiggling her toes.

“Not to his face...” Shaw grins, unable to resist the skittles any more, all shiny and delicious looking, taunting her from Zoe’s book. She grabs a red one, and Zoe thwaps her hand but too late and Shaw eats her stolen treat triumphantly.

“Well, my point is, if you're having a hard time, John gets you wasted and makes sure you don’t die, Harry and Joss make sure your work gets done and that you eat food and drink fluids, and I talk to you about your squirmy innards. But we are all good friends, in our own ways. You don’t send a fish to climb a tree, Shaw. Root needs you, specifically. She needs you to be Shaw, which you are very good at. Trust me on this, I am, after all, very wise and brilliant,” Zoe declares, rolling sideways and putting her feet up on the wall by Shaw’s head.

“You are neither wise, nor brilliant,” Shaw pokes her feet until she moves them further over, “you can’t even figure out how gay you are.”

“Oh, I totally figured that out,” Zoe grins at her, and Shaw narrows her eyes.

“And how gay is that?”

“Gay enough, Shaw. I am gay enough. And I am gonna find me a naked lady to experiment on.”

“Do you mean ‘experiment with?’ I’ll wingman you for sex but not if you are gonna lock some poor girl up in the basement and do science on her...unless she’s into that sort of thing, I guess. Frankensexual... could be a thing?” Shaw grins, “oh, it’s soccer finals next week and the social after that. Full of lesbians. Instead of picking up a man friend from the opposition to console after we cream them, maybe you can find a lady friend.”

“To cream _on_ ,” Zoe snickers gleefully.

“Exactly!” Shaw feels much better, and manoeuvres herself to the edge of the bed, “thanks for the skittles,” she pads towards the door.

“Anytime, lamo,” Zoe worms her way back into a sitting position and picks up her book, but she doesn’t balance it right and the skittles all slide into the spine, “aw, fuck. Now I have to start this chapter again.”

Shaw snorts and lets herself out. She’s quiet as she slips back into her bedroom. Root is curled up on her side, breathing evenly. Shaw squirms under the covers and up behind her, sliding her hand over Root’s hip. 

Root grumbles awake slowly, rolling over to face Shaw and half-climb on top of her, mouthing sleeping at her neck. It feels brutally normal, and Shaw relaxes into it, stroking her hand down Root’s back.

She feels the exact moment Root comes fully awake and presumably remembers earlier events, because she stiffens and tries to roll off Shaw.

“Uh uh,” Shaw holds her in place, actually using her superior strength a little bit, “I like you on top of me.”

Root relaxes slowly, kisses the space just under Shaw’s ear after a minute, and Shaw softens her grip, “everything’s cool, Root,” she mumbles, “we fixed it, remember?” 

The breath on her neck stutters for a moment, and then she feels Root nod against her throat, “yeah. I remember.”

Shaw smiles smugly at the ceiling, “good.”


	50. I'll Just Lick You If You Get Weird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning** smut marked with a horizontal rule, strapons, nipple clamps, face sitting. The kids are getting back on track, is what I'm saying here.

They spend the evening watching a bunch of Buffy and Angel, splitting pizza with the rest of the Casa cause no one can be fucked to cook. Joss and Zoe both stop in for a few episodes, and Root tries to wrap herself in the normalcy, stay in the moment. 

Shaw’s hand stays on her leg throughout, grounding her. It seems like whenever she starts spinning out into overwhelming, whirlwind thoughts, Shaw digs her nails in, pins her to the mattress so Root stays there. 

After Zoe and Joss wander off to bed, Shaw climbs onto Root’s lap and sucks on her lower lip before asking, “what time’s our meeting again?” 

Root’s pretty sure Shaw already knows, and she’s also pretty sure she's is in her lap purely to distract her, but she answers anyway, “ten.” It does not escape her that Shaw is calling it ‘our’ meeting, and she knows for a fact that both John and Shaw are planning on accompanying Root and Harold to the office building downtown that Control has chosen for their meeting, “and you have your soccer quarter-finals at ... six, right?” 

“Yep,” Shaw bounces a little, and then slides backwards and lies down, beckoning Root forwards with one hand. 

Root snorts and crawls up her body, and Shaw puts her hands deliberately above her head, crossing her wrists, “wanna fuck my brains out?” She inquires and Root manages a weak grin, leaning down to nip at Shaw’s neck, mostly to hide her face.

She knows that Shaw is trying to normalize them, rebalance them, and she appreciates it a lot, but she’s not sure she trusts herself completely right now. Even though as long as Shaw's not restrained there’s no doubt that she could definitely stop Root from doing anything she didn’t want, Root never wants to put Shaw in that position-- _again_ , her mind whispers. She feels guilt scalding her stomach and Shaw must read something of what’s going through her head in her body language because she licks Root’s forehead.

It’s so totally unexpected it startles a laugh out of Root, abruptly back to just lying on Shaw, on her _girlfriend_ , instead of drowning in her own thoughts. 

Shaw sounds smug when she says, “see, I’ll just lick you if you get weird. It’ll be fine.” 

Root snorts, feeling better, “well, some areas have a different reaction when you lick ‘em,” making Shaw snicker. 

“If we let it be a big deal won’t it be worse? Why don’t you dip your toes back in, see how it feels? I trust you, Root.”

Root lifts up far enough to look at Shaw’s face. Shaw looks both relaxed and serious at the same time, and Root leans in to kiss her, trying to convey her gratitude for Shaw’s handling of her emotional shitshow lately. Shaw kisses her back, deeply, sucking on Root’s tongue, sending a frisson of heat tingling down into her stomach. 

“I can check in with you, if that helps?” Shaw asks, “I can just say, ‘green, green, green’ the whole time instead of the usual, ‘oh, fuck, Root, yeah, please, fuck’,” she does a pretty excellent impression of herself having an orgasm, and arousal uncoils in Root’s belly, throbs and stretches.

Shaw has to see it in her face, because she smiles triumphantly, and runs her hand down Root’s back slowly, “but I mean, if you don’t want to...” She says after a moment, half-teasing, half-genuine, and Root is run over by a wave of affection, leaning down to kiss the smirk off Shaw’s face. 

They make out all-leisurely for a while, Shaw squirming underneath Root pleasantly, until Root is aching and needy and pre-occupied by the fire blazing in her body, entirely distracted from anything except Shaw underneath her.

* * *

Letting herself fall into the physical connection she nips Shaw’s lip before wriggling up her body, conveniently naked from earlier. After a second’s hesitation, she grabs Shaw’s wrists, hoisting them above Shaw’s head and settling down hovering just out of reach of her mouth. 

Shaw moans and lifts her head up, holding eye-contact voluntarily instead of closing them like she usually would. She takes a long, slow lick up the length of Root, making her groan deep in her chest.

Root holds her wrists and rides her face until she comes in a mind-melting orgasm that leaves her wrecked and gasping, leaning against the wall above the bed, focusing determinedly on her body. 

Soft hands running up and down her legs keep her in the bed, keep her connected. Shaw doesn’t pull her down but she does curl her fingers around Root’s hips and kiss her inner thighs until Root squirms down the bed and lies down next to her, still breathing erratically.

“Green?” Shaw murmurs, rolling onto her side to look at Root frankly, eyes trailing down her body. Her face is flushed and pink, and she swipes her hand over her mouth to wipe away the remnants of Root’s orgasm.

“Green,” Root agrees, her heartrate steadying and Shaw looks pleased enough to make Root smirk. She leans over to run her hand over Shaw’s chest, yank roughly on her nipples making Shaw gasp and shiver, head tipping back on the pillows. 

The sounds Shaw makes when Root hurts her a little feels like balm on the rubbed raw bits inside her, feels like everything is okay—they are okay, and Root shuffles closer, watching Shaw’s face intently. 

Shaw closes her eyes and moans throatily, arching her back into the sensations and Root feels good about it all. So with a last tug, she wriggles over to the bedside table and opens it, grabbing a harness and dildo and setting up before locating a condom in its wrapper and holding it up thoughtfully. 

She wants to top Shaw, she does, she wants to get them back on an even footing and not feel bad about what happened before, since Shaw is clearly fine with it, but she thinks she needs to find a way to avoid switching off and going onto autopilot. A strapon leaves her hands free, allows for a full body connection, not just Root’s hands and mouth on Shaw. She thinks being pressed against her lover is the thing to do. 

She has a thought, it makes her mouth twist into a smirk, “can you put this on with your mouth?” She rolls over and holds the condom up, and Shaw’s eyes go big and dark, desire softening her face and she reaches out to take it, curling her fingers around Root’s for a moment.

The answer turns out to be yes, but not easily, and it kind of descends into a bit of a giggling farce before success is achieved and Shaw sits up to straddle Root’s hips.

Root leans up to tweak her nipples roughly again, swallowing Shaw’s groan in a heated kiss. She pulls back with another idea after a moment, and, without dislodging Shaw, leans over to the bedside drawer again to grab the nipple clamps she’d dropped off in there at some point and they’ve never used. 

Shaw nods eagerly when she sees them, bracing herself on Root’s thighs, and the noise she lets escape when Root reaches up to fasten the clamps into place makes Root roll her hips up, so the dildo dips into Shaw inadvertently. 

Shaw gasps, her nipples hard and darkening against the silver even as Root watches. She runs her fingers between Shaw’s legs and leans over to take a trapped nipple into her mouth at the same time. Satisfied that Shaw is wet enough, she pushes on Shaw’s thigh and Shaw sinks down obediently, taking the whole dick in in one smooth movement.

“Green, fuck, green. Fuuuuuck,” Shaw breathes out, and Root digs her fingers into Shaw’s hips, rolling into her, licking gently over the tender flesh in her mouth. 

It’s quiet, and hot, Root ends up shuffling up the bed to lean against the headboard, Shaw grabbing on to her shoulders for leverage. Root alternates between laving over Shaw’s clearly-aching nipples and reaching up for her mouth, deep, sliding kisses of a kind they don’t usually indulge in during the actual fucking part of events, but they help to keep Root focused, keep her right here and now with Shaw. 

When Root can feel her orgasm building, a spark struggling for realisation in her groin, just a little more, a little more, she braces Shaw’s sweaty back with one hand and uses the other to unclip the clamps, sucking one nipple then the other into her mouth and soothing them with broad strokes of her tongue. 

Shaw curls her hand around the back of Root’s neck and comes with a soft cry, leaning back against Root’s hand and grinding into her mouth, onto her dick. The change of angle feels amazing, and Root goes with it, pushes Shaw backwards onto the bed without sliding out of her, follows her down and down and down until her orgasm explodes through her and she vaguely hears Shaw call her name out before teeth dig violently into her neck and hands grab her ass to pull her closer.

She collapses and pants into Shaw’s hair until Shaw grumbles and pushes at her gently, and then she shuffles back, pulls out as slowly as she can so as not to ruin the end of Shaw’s orgasm, then flops onto her back next to Shaw, staring at the ceiling until Shaw pushes up next to her and rests her head on Root’s chest, breathing rapidly and making Root shiver.

After a few minutes, Shaw presses a kiss to her collarbone and sits up, grabbing the water bottle off the side and offering it to Root after she’s taken a few swigs, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Root groans contentedly as she sits up, pushing the harness down her legs and kicking it onto the floor before taking the water and thirstily gulping down half the contents.

When she opens her eyes again she catches Shaw looking at her neck with a look of mild amusement, and she rolls her eyes, “did you give me a fucking hickey?” She inquires, and Shaw smirks.

“Yep. It’s okay, Control will probably like it. Besides, you said this would fade in time for class and then you kept biting it, I look like a fucking leopard” she waves at her own neck, clearly not that annoyed, and Root snorts, wrinkling her nose and not feeling guilty at all, really.

“That’s different,” it’s teasing, and Shaw thwaps her gently on the thigh.

“Oh, cause I’m a sub it’s fine if I walk around with ‘owned’ stamped on me? I see.” 

“Well... it’s a good look on _you_ ,” Root feels normal, with Shaw relaxed and joking, and the pleasant afterglow of a good orgasm still trickling through her. It’s warm and good and safe feeling in her stomach.

“It’s a good look on you too! Besides, you bruise easily, porcelain, that’s hardly my fault.”

Root cracks her neck and reaches out, tugging a lock of Shaw’s hair, “well, in that case, I guess it’s fine.” 

Shaw gives her a sultry look, taking the water bottle out of her hand and crawling on top of her, “or, counter point, it’s a punishable offence?” She licks over Root’s neck, sending a shiver through her, and Root squeezes her ass before rolling them both over and looking down at Shaw.

“Subtle.”


	51. Who Wants To Go On A Triple Date With Control?

The next day, Shaw doesn’t let Root relax long enough to start thinking about anything dramatic. She lets her sleep for as long as humanly possible, so Root is swearing about being late as she pulls her clothes on, but definitely doesn't have time to sit anywhere and start staring into space with that weird look on her face. 

Harold and John are already in the car, and Zoe and Joss come down to wish them luck, making them promise to check in regularly. Shaw doesn’t really think anything untoward is going to happen at this meeting, it doesn’t make any sense for Control to openly invite them to a scheduled event just to hurt them or take them, but Control tortured Root and Shaw isn’t taking any chances.

They pull up to the office, in the center of town, a non-descript fifteen-or-so story building, and Root bites her lip as she looks up at it. John opens the door and runs around to open Harry’s, because he’s a huge dork like that, and Shaw leans over to poke Root in the side, “it’s gonna be fine. Just hear her out, and... we’ll figure out what to do after, okay?”

“Yeah,” Root nods, and Shaw nods back and then gets out of the car. 

Harold looks pretty unsettled, he’s holding John’s arm like he needs the support as they enter the building, and a guy who doesn’t look the least bit like a janitor but is nevertheless clad in janitorial overalls greets them with a military nod and points them to the elevator, “floor six,” he adds, as they enter.

Shaw’s itchy and antsy as they head up. Root’s got her hands crossed over her body, fingers digging into her elbows and Shaw abruptly remembers the way she flinched in the bath when Shaw touched one by accident and it makes her feel hot and angry. 

Root must sense her shifting cause she looks over, and her face softens out of the still mask it was set in. She unfolds her arm and gently touches Shaw’s back, and Shaw relaxes a little. Not completely, but a little. 

Control is waiting for them outside the elevator, the fake-janitor must have radioed up, and she doesn’t smile but her eyes do crinkle a little at the corners. There are no soldiers or guard-type people in sight, so Shaw relaxes a little more, although she’s fully aware that they could be planning any number of things that wouldn’t necessarily require visible manpower.

“Groves, Finch. I see you bought your other halves. Should I call my partner, make it a triple date?” She snarks, and John and Shaw both step forwards in unison, bristling slightly. 

“You think we’d let you anywhere near them without us?” John inquires, lightness in his tone belying the way he’s shifted his weight, clenched his fists.

“As long as you all sign the same waivers, I have no objection to you being here, you're just as wrapped up in this as they are,” Control turns on her heel, marches down the corridor to an open room and steps inside. Shaw follows, unwilling to lose sight of her, and she glances back to see the others coming too. 

The room is banked with computers, and technology Shaw doesn’t immediately recognise lines the walls and desks. Root inhales sharply.

“As you can see, I’m willing to extend a large amount of trust to you, here. This is where we’re planning on setting up our new base. Arthur Claypoole—who originally programmed the S.A.M.A.R.I.T.A.N project—unfortunately met his demise before he completed coding the AI, designed to predict acts of terror and allow us to prevent them...Greer was hired to manage the program. He brought Gabriel in on his own, while I worked with you lot to finish the internal systems. The first three hundred and sixteen versions were... homicidal at best, but you... you managed to teach SAMARITAN. And Mr Finch here coded a morally structured AI almost completely while at the same time working on his Doctrate. We are... let's say impressed with you. And I believe if you look at what we are doing, what Claypoole was doing, you’ll see that working together is in all our best interests. I’ll give you some time to acquaint yourselves.” With that, Control sits down in an uncomfortable looking chair and closes her eyes, for all appearances planning on taking a nap. 

Shaw positions herself next to the chair, John leans up next to the door, and Harold and Root exchange a flurry of words Shaw doesn’t even try to follow before they turn their attention to one of the nearby computers. 

It’s a good job Shaw has a clear schedule until the soccer game in the evening, because it’s four hours of confusing nerd garbage and excited hand gestures before Harold and Root emerge from their geek cocoon. 

Control actually excused herself after half an hour, stating she had places to be, and Finch waved her away without even looking up from the complex code he’s been examining. 

Shaw is bored and starving by the time Root sits back, an unreadable expression on her face, and looks at Harold, “I think... I’m in if you are?” 

Harold hums under his breath, and nods, typing something into the computer and a small smile tugs at his lips when a file or something pops up, “this is... incredible. It could take years, though.” 

Root shrugs, “you got anything else planned for after the summer?” 

He snorts, “well, no. I suppose not.”

Shaw wanders over, drags her finger across the back of Root’s neck, “so... what, you’re going to work for Control?”

“Not exactly,” Root demurs, looking up at her, excitement sparkling in her eyes, “we’re going to rebuild NOVA. Ourselves. Properly.” 

Shaw’s so glad to see the life shining in Root’s face that she swallows down her knee jerk reaction and nods, while John shifts uncomfortably in the doorway, “uh, so if that’s sorted, I really have to pee?”

Control gives Harold and Root a laptop bag each and promises to email them in the next few days, and then Harold says he won’t be able to start until the end of summer, and Root agrees, so Control visibly swallows her irritation and lets them leave with an exhortation to behave themselves and a bit of form signing saying that everything they’ve seen is confidential. It seems more like a formality than anything. 

The ride back to the Casa is quiet, Harold and Root clearly lost in thought, and when they get back to the house, Root yanks Shaw in for a quick kiss before telling her she’ll see her later, and Finch and Root settle down at the table, rapidly getting lost in their plans. 

Shaw is ridiculously hungry so she makes quesadillas for everyone and leaves Root’s and Finch’s on the table while taking her own upstairs to do some of her own work. She’s not sure how she feels about Root working, even indirectly, for Control, but she guesses it’s not up to her, and she trusts Root and Finch to make good decisions—most of the time, anyway. 

The hours fly by, and soon Zoe is sticking her head into Shaw’s room, yanking her out of her concentration, “Shaw, it’s time to go! Quarter finals, baby! Victory here we come!”

***

They don’t smash the opposition, but they do win, the final score 1-0 with an epic save by Jason and a sloppy last minute goal by Collier being the only things that prevent it going to a penalty shootout.

Buoyed up on victory, the team plus the hangers-on head to the pub and celebrate in style, staggering home singing a raucous version of ‘we are the champions’ at top decibel. 

They almost fall over the chaos in the hallway of the Casa, and Zoe tries to drunkenly organise the piles, locating a thick stack of mail in the process. 

“Hey, did you guys see this? Holiday mail! Harper must’ve piled it up. Here, Shaw, you’ve got... two big fatties.” She waves them in the air, and Root grabs them so Shaw doesn’t have to quit trying to take her shoes off. The envelopes are thick and important looking. 

When Shaw struggles to her feet and holds her hands out, Root hands them over, and Shaw tears one open dramatically with her teeth while the boys wriggle past to get to the living area.

Root sits down to pull her shoes off, and looks up when Shaw swears loudly.

“What?”

“I... uh. I got my conditional acceptance into the medical program at OHSU...” She hastily opens the other, equally fancy envelope, “and also at fucking Duke.”


	52. With You, For You, On You, Under You,

“Congrats!” Zoe yells drunkenly, attempting to climb Shaw like a tree. Shaw fends her off distractedly with one hand. She got in? She got in. She got in! She should be overjoyed, but all she can think of is how far away Portland—the closest place she applied—is, and how long the hours at medical school are, how long four years would be, and she looks down at Root sat on the stairs with her shoes in her hands.

Root’s expression is caught between something that might be pride, and something more closed off, harder. She smiles when Shaw catches her eyes, but it’s got sharp edges.

Joss grabs Shaw’s arm excitedly and raises it in the air, dragging her attention away, “of course you got in, you’re a genius!” 

And then there’s a popping sound and Harold is wielding a bottle of champagne and John is passing around glasses and hot pride bubbles in Shaw’s stomach, of course she got in. She’s worked her ass off since she was a kid for this. Going to medical school is what you do, if you’re bright and driven. Just because she never saw what her life would look like at this point doesn’t mean anything has really changed. 

She’d originally planned on deferring the year so she could go to World’s... but since Martine she’s not even set foot in a dojo. On the other hand now she potentially has the National Soccer Squad looking at her...

Shaw experiences a moment of absolute vertigo, which is probably the tequila’s fault, and then Root’s hand is around her bicep, firm and steadying. 

“Shaw?” Her voice is low and private and familiar and Shaw blinks the weird swooping feeling in her stomach away, forcing a smile onto her face. Root lets go, and Shaw misses the feeling of her fingers digging sharply into muscle. 

“Congratulations to me!” She declares, reaching out for a glass of champagne and clanking her glass against the others’. 

“Nice one, sweetie,” Root murmurs as their glasses connect.

“I’m gonna be so hungover tomorrow,” Joss pinches the bridge of her nose, “but this definitely calls for some sort of celebration. Shaw, whaddya wanna do?” 

_Go to bed?_ Is on the tip of her tongue, but everyone’s looking at her expectantly and she takes a sip of her drink, the bubbles stinging her nose and throat, “uh, I don’t know?”

“If you guys wanna go fuck it out, don’t let us stop you,” Zoe snickers, downing her champagne and holding her glass out for a refill, which John obligingly doles out. 

Root catches her eye, twitches her eyebrow, and Shaw suddenly just wants to be really, really drunk. So drunk she can’t remember her own name, let alone all the choices suddenly spooling out in front of her. She empties her glass down her throat and grabs the bottle, “someone find the tequila, Zoe put some music on, Joss get the cards!” She demands, heading for the living room.

***

Joss is not the only one with a crippling hangover. Shaw barely makes it out of the house in time for class, and Root is still asleep when she heads out, pale hand resting on the mattress where Shaw’s warmth might still be lingering.

It’s hard to leave and she feels sick as she walks, the crisp air catching in her throat doing nothing to tramp down the upset of her stomach. 

The first person she ever spent the night with was Zoe. Not in a sexy way—after Zoe’s mom had died the choked sobs coming through the wall had been enough to make Shaw begrudgingly trudge into her room every night for a week, while Zoe gradually rebalanced herself. 

Apart from Zoe, Root is the only person she’s ever shared a bed with, and she’s gotten so used to the slender body curled up next to hers that she wakes up on Root’s side of the bed when Root isn’t there, like she’s crawled over in her sleep to look for her. 

The idea of spending four years without that tastes acrid in the back of her mouth, and the realistic part of Shaw knows that the chances of them managing to keep any sort of relationship going without the physical component— both of them being who they are—are small. Too small.

She feels unsettled and nauseous as she takes her seat in the lecture hall, not bothering to save a seat for Cole. His particular brand of puppyish enthusiasm isn’t something she thinks she can stomach today. 

Avoiding him on the way out, she ends up sitting under a tree, on the grass outside her Bio building, her phone in her hand.

13:21 SHAW @ ROOT// I don’t think I want to go to med school //

The screen shows Root typing, and then she must delete the message because the dots disappear. Shaw lies back with her head on her bag, stares at the bright sunlight flashing off the leaves above her.

13:26 ROOT @ SHAW // why? //

13:33 SHAW @ ROOT // I don’t know //

13:34 ROOT @ SHAW // why did you want to go in the first place? :) //

The smiley face makes Shaw feel a little better, breathe a little easier. She thinks for a while before she replies.

13:45 SHAW @ ROOT // I was always good at science. and... it’s a good thing to do //

13:52 ROOT @ SHAW // Do you not want to go because of me? //

13:56 SHAW @ ROOT // some //

13:58 ROOT @ SHAW // is this easier for you over text? //

14:00 SHAW @ ROOT // yes //

It takes Root a long time to reply, and Shaw digs in her bag for sustenance, locating a granola bar with a tiny clenched fist drawn on it and a note that says ‘don’t punch anyone just cause you’re hangry!’ In Root’s handwriting. Shaw’s stomach swirls, and she can’t tell if it’s hunger or nausea, so she rips the wrapper off and stuffs half the bar in her mouth in the hopes it will help. 

14:10 ROOT @ SHAW // okay. I would say... Don’t make any rash decisions, you only found out yesterday that you got in. But we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I want you to know that if you do decide to go, I’d come with you if you wanted. I don’t have to be here, or anywhere specific to work on NOVA. And if you wanted me with you I would come //

14:15 SHAW @ ROOT // I’m coming back to the casa. are you there? //

14:16 ROOT @ SHAW // sprawled out in the yard, come lie on me //

***

True to her word, Root is lounging on a picnic blanket in the scrap of yard in front of the Casa, a book shading her eyes from the sun and her shirt pulled up to expose her pale stomach.

Shaw dithers on the path and Root notices her, moves her book and gives her a grin, one that Shaw can see hits her eyes even with the sunglasses she’s wearing, “hey, sweetie.” 

“Would you really come with me?” It bursts out of Shaw without preamble, she’s not even got both feet off the path onto the grass.

Root looks up at her, props herself on one elbow, pushing her sunglasses up so Shaw can see her eyes, “with you, for you, on you, under you..." Root smirks, clearly unable to resist the joke before her face goes back to being serious, she inhales deeply before replying, "but Shaw, of course. At the risk of sounding pathetic, you’re the best thing I have going on, if you move and I’m invited, of course I’ll come with you.”

“I’d be busy all the time,” Shaw mutters, sitting down next to Root after four quick steps across the grass, digging her fingers into the slightly soft mud. 

Root shrugs, “so you’ll need someone around to make sure you’re fed and watered. And satisfied,” she adds with a lop-sided grin, “but like I said, you don’t have to decide today, or this week, even. Give yourself some percolation time.”

Shaw lets the frustrated noise burst out of her chest, knotting her hands together and Root reaches out and worms her finger between Shaw’s twisted up ones, half-comforting, half-erotic.

“Why do you want to be a Doctor?” She inquires, and it takes Shaw to realise that yeah, this is a different question from the one Root asked earlier. That was about going to medical school, and she knows most of why she started down that path—to be the best. 

“I...” She grinds to a verbal halt, turns her hand over under Root’s, fingers smeared with mud that Root ignores, “I... don’t know that I do.”

“S’a lot of work to do for something you’re not sure about,” Root’s tone is light and free of judgement.

Shaw stares at her hands, strong and brown, short broad fingers. They’re in stark contrast to Root’s, delicate, slender and pale, “I can defer, if I want. If I have a good reason.”

“I don’t suppose a year off travelling around the world and banging in lots of different countries counts?” Root asks with a grin in her voice.

“Nope. And you have to rebuild your robot friend, anyway. You can’t backpack.” Shaw picks at the dirt under her nails, not looking at Root, “but soccer might count. Maybe. I can’t do both, for sure. Not unless I get a time-turner.”

Root huffs a quiet laugh that means ‘nerd’ and Shaw’s mouth twitches in her first smile of the day. It’s weird how consistently Root can make her smile, even when she’s not really doing anything special. 

Shaw decides that ‘fuck it’ is good enough for now, and lays down with her head on Root’s stomach, making her oof, “whatcha reading?”

“Pattern Recognition and Machine Learning. It is _heavy_ on the multivariate calculus. Required reading for rebuilding NOVA,” Root lays back, propping one hand under her head and holding the book up with the other so Shaw can see the cover.

“Sounds suitably boring. I’m hungover. Read to me and I’ll nap,” she closes her eyes and snorts as Root rests the book on her crown, “and then burgers.” 

“Then burgers,” Root agrees, before starting to read.


	53. She Likes Setting People Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning** soccer. Guest stars from the 100. 
> 
> I am -really- sorry to anyone who is upset by the visitors, obviously I have been working on this for a long time and couldn't rejig it without ruining my crossover which I set up WAY back when. I completely understand if you don't wanna read this or the next .. two chapters. *hugs you all*

The next two weeks pass in a blur of work and soccer, Shaw stretched pretty much as thin as possible by her remaining commitments so that Root barely sees her. She stays at the Casa every night, gets out of bed in time to make Shaw breakfast before she heads to classes, practise, or the library, whichever one is on the docket for the morning, and they fall into bed together at night, sleeping with their toes crossed over each other’s, Shaw’s hand down the back of Root’s jammy shorts. 

For Root’s own part, she fills the days with research, coding, hanging out with whoever’s at the Casa and making sure Shaw eats enough to survive. The downtime allows her to recover from her ordeal, surrounded by friends who don’t push her or demand anything from her. Even in the bedroom things feel like they’re back on an even keel, and Root can’t wait until they have more free time to really prove it. 

It takes her ten days to summon the emotional energy look into Martine’s sentence, to find out the details. Twenty years is a long time, and it’s not like Root is thinking she should have gotten a heavier sentence, really, but she does want to know which charge got dropped. It turns out Martine was sentenced for Claire, and for Shaw. There’s a lot of discussion on internet forums about how the prosecution fucked up, that they should have gone ‘assault with a deadly weapon’ for Root, not attempted homicide—the defence argued that Martine was there only for Shaw, that Root involved herself and was collateral damage. Root watches Orange is the New Black for a day and then fucks Shaw in the library and feels better. 

After destroying the opposition in the semis, Team Machine is chomping at the bit for the finals, and Joss has them all working their asses off in every scrap of free time. It’s their final year, after all, final shot at the cup. And Shaw has heard on the grapevine that the City scouts will be attending. 

Root and Harold make their way across campus together for the match, having put in a solid six hours of work that day already. For all that they told Control they wouldn’t be able to start until after their summer vacation—a six week trip to Europe—was over, neither of them had been able to resist the lure of the work. 

They’re still animatedly discussing the latest developments in rebuilding NOVA’s core heuristics when they arrive at the field. 

More and more people have been turning out for each match as it nears the finals, and there’s almost a hundred spectators strung up and down the sidelines. 

The team is warming up; Shaw is running sprints, Joss and Zoe are passing balls back and forth with Laskey, while John plus a couple of the other team members are taking shots at Greenfield from the box. 

Root and Harold set their chairs up as close to center as they can get, waving at their people. The match is due to kick off in fifteen minutes, and the opposition is deep in their own warm ups. 

Shaw jogs over and grins at them, “got your pompoms?”

Root smirks and waggles her eyebrows, “left ‘em back at the Casa with the rest of my uniform,” and Harold rolls his eyes before John bounces over to join them, stretching his hamstrings.

“Oy, Shaw!” A voice yells, and Shaw spins around, a wide grin splitting her face when she sees who is hollering at her.  
A brown-skinned, brown-haired babe lopes over, clapping Shaw on the shoulder.

“Reyes, ready to get your ass kicked?” Shaw inquires, shoving the girl gently away, but in a friendly way.

“Oooh, baby, we’re gonna paste you!” Reyes declares, then holds her hand out to Root, “hey, I’m Raven.” 

“Root,” Root replies, shaking her hand, and John then Finch follow suit. Shaw leans a hand on Root’s shoulder for balance as she pulls a foot up behind her back, and Raven smirks.

“I knew you were sapphic. Lexa owes me twenty bucks!”

Root snorts, leaning her elbow on her camp chair, “sapphic tendencies, anyway,” and Shaw smirks, swapping legs.

“I’ll fuck anyone pretty enough,” she declares, “and why’re you making bets on my sexuality anyway?”

Raven shrugs, “why not? Hey, we should grab a beer after we kick your asses, reminisce about Dizzy spanking us on the bleep tests. We’re all staying at the Marriott downtown.”

“Ooh, spanking,” Root murmurs, and Shaw stands up properly again, tugs on Root’s earlobe.

“Behave,” Root’s about to reply that she’ll do nothing of the sort but Joss calls everyone over, and Raven and Shaw trot back onto the pitch, getting into huddles with their teams. 

There’s a bit of chatter, and then they separate and the team groups up on the pitch, before they flip a coin for kick off and the game begins.

The other team is good, no doubt about it, their defence is nigh-on impenetrable with two pale-skinned brunettes, both with flashing eyes outlined with thick smears of black paint absolutely dominating every attack that gets in their end. 

Fortunately, their attack isn’t as good as their defence or Team Machine would have been destroyed. An extremely terrifying woman with cropped dark hair is yelling at them from the sidelines, Root assumes she must be the coach, and she looks enraged when a floppy-haired boy who misses what should have been a pretty easy shot. 

Then Team Machine get up in the box thanks to some epic ball-theft by Harper, sending it down to Collier who makes it past the shorter of the two defensive terrors on the wing, gets stuck in the corner and spins around, crossing it in for Shaw bolting out of mid-field with someone in hot pursuit. 

Shaw jumps up to catch it on her chest and then is knocked down by the angry looking blonde chasing her before she can trap it. The ball bobbles clear and is scooped up by the keeper, a tall man with his head shaved into a very short mohican. 

But the whistle’s already blown, and after a few seconds of angry discussion with the referee, the ball is given to Shaw for a free kick.

Root knots her hands together between her knees, tension thrumming through her as Shaw places the ball on the ground and takes a few measured paces backwards. 

The defenders are lined up between her and the goal, boys with their hands held defensively in front of their groins. Shaw glances around, takes two running steps and boots the ball.

It goes up, high, lifted right over the defensive line, and then John darts in and heads it hard, flying towards the outside of the post, the goalie stretching out for it, and then Zoe comes out of nowhere and kicks it in midair, back the way it came, past the goalie, and John’s on it again with a powerful left and it’s in the back of the net, the goalie hitting the ground way out of position. 

Root shrieks and jumps out of her chair, hopping up and down, much to Harold’s amusement as he stands too, whooping triumphantly as Shaw jumps on John’s back and he runs back to midfield with her over his shoulders like a cape, Zoe slapping hands behind them. 

The lead doesn’t last for long, a daring run by the blonde girl who fouled Shaw just outside the box supported by floppy-hair, who Root started referring to internally as ‘muppet’, but catches ‘Blake’ on the back of his shirt just before he yanks the front up over his head to celebrate the goal the girl put in the net, and then it’s half time. 

Sweaty and pumped up, the team congregate for water and Shaw stuffs a fruit roll up in her mouth as she heads back onto the pitch after kissing Root so violently her lips hurt a little bit. Shaw has the wolfish, sharp expression of her at her most competitive, and the adrenaline pouring off her in waves lights Root’s blood up. She abandons her nice relaxing chair to inch up closer to the sidelines and holler support at her crew.

“Alright, Zoe!” She yells as the girl ducks around a tackle and floats up into the other half, only to be thwarted by another Blake, this one with boobs and much nicer to look at. 

The score sticks at 1-1, several inspired efforts on both halves resulting in excellent shots but no joy, the keepers working their asses off, and finally the ref calls out the end of the overtime.

“Penalties?” Root asks Harold, who has pulled his chair up beside her and is half-in, half-out of it.

“Penalties,” he agrees, sounding nervous as the team group in the middle of their half for a minute and break with a shout of ‘machine’, “John, Collier and Zoe will take them.”

The other team go first, and Jason dives the full length of the goal but fails to catch the muppet’s excellent shot which thuds into the corner of the net to the groans of Machine supporters.

The goalies swap out, and John bounces in place, slapping hands with Shaw before heading into position. 

He glances over at Harold before taking his shot, which is a beauty, swooping high towards the top left corner, looking like a certain goal before somehow the shaven-headed keeper is there, an incredibly athletic jump letting him just get his fingertips to the ball which jumps over the crossbar. 

Fuck. 

Root chews her lip impatiently as the next player for the opposition jogs towards the penalty spot. It’s the girl Shaw was joking about with at the beginning, Raven, and she actually licks her finger and holds it up like she’s calculating windspeed before stepping back and waiting for the keeper to give the nod to the ref.

It’s a fucking incredible kick, curving out to the right and slicing into the top corner, with Jason gone in the opposite direction, punching the ground angrily as he gets to his feet. Root actually feels a little sorry for him, for a moment, that looks like a lot of pressure.

Collier thumps his chest a few times while he lines up, cycles back and takes his kick. For a moment Root thinks the Keeper has it, but impossibly it pops off his shin and into the back of the net, Collier whooping and jumping in triumph. 2-1 Machine are still in it. Unless the next shot goes in. 

The last kicker for the opposition is the defender who’d been giving them so much trouble, and Root holds her breath as she takes her shot. 

It’s the fastest kick Root’s seen yet, blurring in her vision, but it careens off the post and Jason slams the ricochet to the ground, trapping it with his whole body. The ref makes a ‘no goal’ gesture and Team Machine shout in triumph, Shaw grabs Zoe and says something to her, making the psych student nod as she tightens her ponytail, looking more serious than Root has ever seen her. 

She takes a long time to set up, long enough that the opposition rumble and move at the center line, impatient, and then she steps back. Zoe looks up at the sky for a moment, gives a nod like she’s come to some sort of agreement with herself, steps back and bounces twice before running in.

The shot’s a beauty, low and hard, the keeper throws himself at it full body, but it’s too fast and it’s past his fingers before he gets there, thudding to the ground as the ball swishes in the net, 2-2.

“What now?” Root hisses at Harold, around her finger which she’s apparently chewing on now, but before he can answer Jason’s back in the net and another man is stepping up to the penalty spot. He’s got long, floppy hair and his shirt says ‘Collins’. 

He steps back, turns to grin at his team, and then faces the goal again, running in with quick little steps before his foot connects with the ball. 

Jason doesn’t even have to move, it hits him dead in the outstretched hands, a perfect catch. Collins stares at him with a look of total disbelief that makes Root wonder if he wasn’t trying to psych Greenfield out and put the ball in dead center after he’d moved out the way. He trudges back to his team, looking dejected.

Then Shaw’s moving out of the huddle of players at the line, and Root turns to Harold in surprise, “Shaw?!”

He shrugs, eyes fixed on the pitch and Root hurriedly turns back, “she’s the fourth best penalty taker on the team, could be a striker if she wanted to. But she likes setting people up.” 

Shaw straightens her shirt, leans down to check her laces, and then stands, placing the ball down confidently and stepping back.

Root’s heart is in her throat, a hard, meaty lump she can’t swallow as Shaw steps back and back and back, further than any of the other players had gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guest stars from the 100- Raven Reyes, Octavia and Bellamy Blake, Lexa Woods, Lincoln, Finn Collins, Anya.


	54. Your Pants Aren't The Boss Of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning** smut, in a public bathroom. Domination, oral, shoot stuff. Nothing dramatic?

She _sprints_ in, feet pounding the grass. It’s almost like it’s slow motion to Root, Shaw’s ponytail flipping up, her shoulder dipped down as she leans in to take her shot.

Her foot connects with a hearty thump, the ball flying away from her shoe and up, up, too high? And then it drops rapidly like gravity has suddenly decided to really exert itself and the ball bobs just under the bar, over the outstretched arm of the keeper and into the net.

Team Machine explodes on the center line, Root finds herself yelling out triumphantly, and next to her Harold grabs her hand, yanks her forwards and then they’re on the pitch, swept up in sweaty hugs from their housemates and Shaw is open-mouthed and laughing into her neck, hot and squirmy. 

Before things can get inappropriate for public because Root’s higher functioning appears to have fallen into her pants sometime around watching Shaw score the winning goal, Zoe pulls Shaw off for her own hug, and then Joss grabs Root and everyone is just jumping and dancing around. 

John actually picks Harold up in a hug, twirling him around before placing him back on his feet and kissing him enthusiastically while Harold tries to squirm away, very pink in the face. 

A laughing Joss grabs John’s collar to pull him back, and announces loudly, “alright, alright, you champions! Line up, line up,” and Root and Harold are pushed out the way while Team Machine jogs in a line against the other teams’ line so they can all shake hands and say ‘good game, good game’.

Then there’s a brief grouping up thing, spectators on the field with various players, and Joss is being presented with a trophy almost as big as the grin on her face. Root watches excitedly and clicks some of her own photos as they get manhandled into something resembling a team position and are accordingly recorded for posterity. 

“Woody’s?” Shaw inquires when they’re done, sliding her hand under Root’s shirt at the back in a way that makes Root think Shaw wouldn’t be opposed to working off a bit of energy in other ways, but the win must be celebrated, and she wriggles away from Shaw's hand because it's entirely too distracting and she's horny as fuck right now.

“Control yourself,” she teases, and Shaw grins up at her.

“Oh, but I prefer it when you control me,” she snickers, and behind her John makes a loud vomit noise, joined by another voice and when Root looks around it’s Raven, who pokes Shaw in the shoulder.

“Where’s this pub of yours, then? We all need to drown our sorrows,” and Shaw takes a step out of Root’s personal space—to her combined relief and disappointment. Shaw points at the path.

“But we’re all heading there too, the boys can bring your boys, if you like? Right John?” 

John nods, scrubbing a hand over his sweaty face, “sure, see you there in twenty or so.”

“It takes him fucking ages to blow-dry his hair,” Shaw snarks, “hey, Reyes, uh, Raven I mean, this is Joss and Zoe, and that’s Frankie and Harper,” the rest of the team are already headed to the changing rooms, anyway. 

“Nice to meetcha,” Raven nods at them, “epic penalty, Zoe, was it. Oh wait.. Zoe Morgan. No way? Are you Zoe ‘Don’t Get Me Started’ Morgan? With the violent babes?!” She sounds delighted, and Zoe grins, holding out her hand for a shake.

“Yes! Are you my first fan?” They all start mooching towards the changing rooms, and Root lets Shaw tug her with them, wondering if there’s time for a quick celebratory bang in the changing rooms, eavesdropping on Zoe and her new friend who is leaning in unnecessarily close to Zoe while they walk.

“I fucking love your violent babes twitter account, those live tweets, I die! I’ve done a couple of watch alongs with you, but I never tweeted.”

Root has seen a thing or two in her time and she can easily recognise the clear interest on Raven’s side, and Zoe doesn’t seem to be objecting, she touches Raven’s elbow to emphasise something as she replies.

Root knocks her hip into Shaw, cocking a suggestive eyebrow at the girls in front. Shaw grins, murmuring, “ya think Zoe’s about to get her lady cherry popped?” 

“Looks like Raven definitely wouldn’t object,” she replies, low-voiced, and Shaw smirks.

“Wanna pop my lady cherry? I’m all... worked up,” she bats her eyelashes up at Root, causing her stomach to swoop with arousal.

“Go clean up, horndog, I’ll work you out later,” she says regretfully, “you guys just won the cup, we have to put in at least a semblance of sociability?” 

Shaw snorts like she hears the easily persuadable note in Root’s voice but wrinkles her nose, “urgh, I guess. Joss would say it’s not good team spirit for us to disappear without making an effort first.” 

“I’ll see you at the pub,” Root leans down for a sweaty kiss that somehow ends up with her muscling Shaw against the external wall of the changing room and shoving a hand up her shirt, honestly she has no idea how—Shaw just looks so fucking cute in her soccer kit? Shaw sucks on her tongue and moans, pushing onto her thigh.

A throat clears behind them and she manages to detangle, stepping back and running her hand through her hair, breathing heavily, Shaw looking at her with so much heat in her eyes Root thinks she might combust. Shaw licks her lips deliberately and then turns and walks into the changing rooms, leaving Root feeling like she badly needs to adjust her pants situation. 

The defender who took the last penalty grins at her as she moves past Root, “well, getting to watch that celebration slightly makes up for losing,” she murmurs as she slides through the door.

Root takes several deep breaths and turns on her heel, her face hot and her groin aching. She doesn’t look for Harry, thinking that a private walk might be just the ticket for cooling down a bit before being expected to formulate words.

Woody’s is already fairly busy, but the deck area has been reserved for the soccer team and Root heads straight there to sit on a picnic style bench and try to get herself under control. Apparently Shaw’s victory face is an absolute pants-killer, because Root just cannot stop thinking about it. 

A banging sound jerks her out of really inappropriate contemplation involving better uses for this picnic table and she opens her eyes to see Harold and Frankie’s boyfriend, she thinks his name is Will have joined her, both bearing pitchers and followed by a bartender with a tray full of glasses.

“What a game, hey?” Will enthuses as he pours for them, and Root rouses herself enough to make polite conversation about the match before the team arrives, spreading out across the tables. 

Will excuses himself to join Frankie who is currently sitting on Harper’s lap for some reason, Root hopes polyamory is that reason, and the Casa fill up the table Harold and Root are on. 

After a few minutes they’re joined by Raven and the two brunette defenders, who Shaw perfunctorily introduces as Octavia and Lexa, Lexa being the girl who got an impromptu peep show outside the changing rooms. She winks at Root with a lazy grin.

Most of the conversation is just reliving the match, the girls from the other team don’t seem too down in the dumps, which makes sense when Root realises they’re all second and third years—this isn’t their last shot at the cup. The male Blake and Collins both look pretty dejected, but seem to be trying to make up for it with the amount of empty shot glasses in front of them.

Shaw’s hand slides onto her leg under the table, toying with the hem of her dress, sending another bolt of heat through her, and she has to swallow a noise she’s scared would come out as a whine when she lifts the hand free and deposits it on the table. Shaw just grins innocently, clearly aware of the state Root is in.

“Stop that,” Root leans over to hiss in Shaw’s ears, and Shaw smirks.

“Make me,” she pours herself a new beer, takes a gulp with her head tilted back deliberately, Root’s eyes dropping to her throat as she swallows smoothly. Urgh, why is Shaw being a little shit so sexy?

“My pants need you to,” Root manages to respond after a moment, picking up her own beer and downing half of it, unaware that she’s no longer speaking quietly.

“Your pants aren’t the boss of me!” Shaw declares cheekily, and Zoe laughs out loud.

“Oh come on, we all know that’s not true. Stop torturing her, Shaw, you little bastard,” Shaw flicks Zoe the finger, but moves away from Root a little, giving her some breathing space.

“Thank you, Zoe,” Root smirks.

“How come when it’s me that’s in a fucking state everyone thinks it’s hilarious?” Shaw inquires, and Joss leans over to refill everyone’s glasses while the visitors look on with amused expressions, Raven sat very, very close to Zoe.

“Because you always deserve it,” Joss says with a demure grin, and Shaw huffs indignantly. 

A shattering glass distracts everyone as Collins staggers to his feet, dripping beer and looking angry, before stomping off to the bathroom, and Root's calmed down a bit by the time everyone returns their attention to the table.

“Did you see the scouts?” Octavia changes the subject, looking entertained.

***

It’s at least an hour before the party is in full enough swing for Root to grab Shaw’s hand and sneak her away, pushing her into the disabled bathroom with determined hands.

Shaw’s spent the entire time deliberately touching Root, looking at Root, leaning against Root, bending over in front of Root and generally playing every card in her ‘drive Root insane’ playbook. It’s worked. Root’s blood is buzzing with lust and adrenaline.

* * *

Shaw gulps, watching her from under lowered lashes, expectant and a little nervous looking, in a good way, as Root leans around her to lock the door.

“Knees,” Root’s heart is pounding as she pulls her panties off and tucks them in her purse, biting her lip and looking at Shaw. She trails her fingers between her legs with a gasp, she's fucking soaked, ridiculously so. She pulls her hand clear and looks pointedly at the floor when Shaw hasn't moved.

Shaw slides down the door, onto her knees, taking a shuddery breath, biting her own lip. Root smiles and offers her her fingers, and Shaw's eyes flutter closed as she lifts her chin so she can reach Root's hand, taking her fingers delicately between her lips and making a needy sound in the back of her throat as she cleans them off with her tongue. The sensation buzzes through Root's veins, pooling liquid heat in her groin and she inhales deeply before pulling her fingers clear of Shaw's hot mouth, wanting it against her pussy _now_.

She steps in, pulls her skirt up with one hand and winds her other into Shaw’s hair, “you need to learn to behave yourself,” she murmurs, awash with power and desire as Shaw inhales deeply, nosing against Root’s groin before looking up with a faint smirk. She looks so fucking good on her knees Root can hardly breathe.

“But when I’m good I don’t get punished,” Shaw points out, before burying her face between Root’s legs and making her gasp at the sensation of a hot tongue pushing against her clit. Root tightens her hand in Shaw’s hair enough to make her grunt in pain and redouble her efforts.

Shaw works her over skillfully, clearly mindful of the time they can be awol for, waiting for Root to tell her, “fuck me, Sameen,” before sliding into her, sucking on her clit until Root comes with a gasp, hand slamming against the door.

The orgasm takes the edge off, and Root breathes in contentedly, playing with Shaw’s hair before pulling her to her feet, shoving her back into the door.


	55. Our Baby's All Grown Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning**  
>  public bathroom smut at the beginning til the line. Then lots of semi-graphic sex talk with Zoe and very little else.

Root’s looking at her with half-lidded, satisfied eyes, pink spots high on her cheeks and a smug grin on her face. Shaw licks her lips, tasting Root’s flavour, body pounding. Root watches her mouth with a little smirk, and then leans in to kiss her, licking Shaw's lips clean and sucking her own taste off Shaw’s tongue with a throaty sound of satisfaction. 

The wood behind Shaw’s back is shockingly cool against her overheated skin, bare shoulders and the strip exposed above her jeans where her tanktop has rucked up. Root nips Shaw’s lip and slides a hand around her throat, rubbing her thumb down Shaw’s artery slowly, so Shaw can feel her own pulse easing past the pressure. 

She whines, needy, wanting Root’s body against her, pushing her hips off the door looking for contact, but Root pushes her back, looks her up and down.

“Got a good reason why I shouldn’t leave you like this?” She murmurs huskily, and Shaw groans, deep in her chest at the idea of Root making her go back out to their friends, soaked and aching.

“Please,” she can’t tell if she’s saying please do, or please don’t, honestly whichever one has it’s own sweet appeal, and Root smirks down at her with a devilishly pleased look on her face. 

“I think I’d like to watch you squirming around, clenching your thighs under the table, trying to pay attention but so distracted by thoughts of what I’m going to do to you later,” Root purrs it, leaning in to bite the shell of Shaw’s ear, the sudden pain a spark through her nervous system.

“Fuck, Root,” she arches her back, hips searching, and Root pins her against the door with her body.

“On the other hand, fucking you in a bathroom stall is pretty fun in and of itself,” she scrapes her nails across Shaw’s stomach, making her shudder, and then pushes down under the waistband of her jeans, groaning quietly when she gets her hand curled between Shaw’s legs, “oh baby, you are _dripping_ ,” she observes, licking down Shaw’s throat, moving her hand to the other side, fingers around the back of Shaw’s neck and thumb pushing up under her jaw. 

“Oh, God,” is pretty much all Shaw can manage as Root wriggles her hand deeper and dips her fingertips inside. She wishes Root would undo her jeans, pull them down and fuck her properly, and as soon as she’s had the thought Root is withdrawing and for a moment Shaw thinks that Root really is gonna just wash her hands off and head back to the party, but then hands are at her flies and her jeans are shoved down unceremoniously.

Root’s hand is back on her almost before she has time to breathe, dragging through her wetness and pushing inside. 

Shaw’s head falls back against the door, Root mouths against her throat, teeth dragging down the muscle and Shaw muffles a cry by biting her own lip as Root grinds her palm onto Shaw’s clit. 

She doesn’t last long, letting her orgasm build rapidly and crash over her, leaving her gasping into Root’s neck as she half-stumbles forward and Root catches her, helps her steady herself. 

* * *

Shaw opens her mouth to say thanks, but ends up giving a huge, jaw-cracking yawn instead and Root laughs as she steps away, washing her hands with soap and then rummaging in her purse, coming out with some gum, “aw, sweetie, did I wear you out?”

Shaw rolls her eyes and pulls her pants back up with a little difficulty, “I think winning the university league championships is actually what wore me out, loser,” Root narrows her eyes at her and smirks, it’s her ‘I’m gonna get you for that’ smirk and Shaw looks forward to it immensely. 

She rinses her hands and leans up for a minty kiss, but Root evades, pointing at the sink, “wash your face,” and Shaw grumbles but obliges, holding her hand out for some gum when she’s done. 

“Good?” Root asks, lazy satisfaction staining her words, and Shaw nods, checking she’s done her zip up before gesturing at Root to open the door.

They emerge into the dark corridor, getting a raised eyebrow from a dude leaning against the wall opposite, waiting for the men’s room, but they ignore him in favour of heading back to the main room.

Before they make it to the bar, Zoe zooms out of the crowd and grabs Shaw by the arm, dragging her to the side, “Shaw. I’ve been looking for you everywhere! Raven asked if she could come home with me and I said yes! I'm panicking! I need your top ten lady fucking tips _immediately_. What do I do? What music do I play? What if I’m _terrible?!_ ”

Shaw laughs, nodding when Root jerks her head towards the bar and then turning her attention to Zoe as Root disappears into the crowd, on a drinks run, “you’ll be fine, Zoe, relax. Tegan and Sara if you’re tryna pretend you’ve banged chicks before,” she laughs at her own joke, but Zoe doesn’t look amused.

“Shaw!”

“Kidding, kidding. Don't play Tegan and Sara, you're not fifteen. Just log into my youtube, play any of the playlists with an alpha-numeric name. They’re all for bangs, Root made ‘em, obviously. And tips! Uh, ten, really? Okay.” She leans her shoulder on the wall, thinking, “one: remember everything terrible that men have ever done to your poor vagina and don’t do those things, and don’t do the thing where you’re like ‘clit or penetration, pick one!’, that’s lame as fuck, man. Fingers inside, mouth on the clit, okay?” she laughs as Zoe frantically rummages in her purse to drag her phone out and then starts making notes, “go in slow, always start gentle and work your way up the first time you fuck someone, you gotta figure out what they’re into. Suck _everything._ Suck everything. Gently, mind, but suction is your best friend, I still fondly remember figuring that out.”

Zoe gestures for her to continue with an impatient look on her face.

“uhhh, you know where the g-spot is? Front wall. Once I fucked a girl and she had her fingers facing down the whole time and I couldn’t figure out what was happening til I looked but it was lame as fuck. You can get it like this,” Shaw demos finger position for Zoe—index and middle curled forwards, and grins, “oh, and if you go middle two fingers you can use your index and pinky to make space for your mouth if she has a big bush, that’s handy! So what am I on, like, five? You want ten really?”

Zoe nods dramatically, “I want a hundred and fifty, I don’t know why I didn’t make you talk me through this before, what if I’m awful in bed?”

“You won’t be awful in bed, relax! If things get weird ask her to show you how she likes to be touched, then copy that, you’ll be fine. Uh, if she’s not wet enough, don’t be afraid to ask for lube, no one likes a dry fuck. If you get tired, change it up unless she’s about to come, if she’s about to come you better stick it out cause that’s just mean otherwise. This is hard, Zoe! I feel very pressured.”

Zoe just makes puppy dog eyes at her.

Shaw rolls her eyes, “you can never pay too much attention to nipples or inner thighs unless, of course, they tell you it’s too much attention. Do not fucking tell her to brush her teeth or wash her hands after she goes down on you, that is unacceptable, just prepare for the fact you’re going to get covered in jizz, okay. It’s sexy, embrace the jizz. Ummm, try a bunch of different tongue movements out and see what floats her boat, everyone likes different shit, so you gotta pay attention to her reactions. You can always use toys if things aren’t going super easy cause you’re drunk or whatever, mostly you don’t have to worry about the man-ego thing where sometimes they get all irritated if you wanna give yourself a helping hand. Usually girls are like ‘yay, sex! Everyone should have the most fun possible,” and if they’re not you should leave anyway. That do ya?”

Zoe sighs, reading back over her list, “I might text you in a panic,” Root approaches with three glasses and Shaw and Zoe take theirs. Zoe downs most of hers in one go.

“Sure, text away,” Shaw agrees, “hell, put us on skype—we can have a cyber four-some,” she smirks and takes a gulp of her drink, and Root rolls her eyes.

“Just relax, Zoe, it’ll be fine. It’s just a vagina, you have your own, it’s not that challenging to extrapolate from there.” 

Zoe closes her eyes for a minute and nods, finishing her drink, “okay, I’m doing it, I’m going home with a ladyfriend. Wish me luck!”

“Good luck!” Root dutifully says, and Shaw snickers.

“Oh!” Zoe turns around, looking at her phone again, “when you say ‘suck’, how hard are you talking? Like... hickeys?” 

Shaw snorts and shakes her head, “hell no, not unless she’s into a bit of pain with her pleasure, want me to show you?” 

“What?!” Zoe looks scandalised and Root laughs out loud, while Shaw flaps her hand impatiently.

“On your neck, dork. Or your hand, whatever.” 

Zoe dithers for a minute and then nods, “yeah, okay. Suck me, great sex master.”

Shaw snickers, “I’m gonna start making everyone call me that,” she moves into Zoe’s body, closes her mouth over her pulse point and sucks gently, letting her teeth lightly-lightly scrape over the sensitive skin, pushing with her tongue. Zoe shudders and nods, putting her hand on Shaw’s shoulder and pushing her away, looking flustered.

“Okay, yep, sucking, got it. Good. Bye!” And turns around and marches determinedly into the bar. 

Root smirks sexily for a moment, dragging her eyes down Shaw’s body in a way that makes her hormones stand up and beg, and then grabs Shaw’s hand to pull her after Zoe so they can watch. 

They see Zoe tap Raven on the shoulder, and dive in for a kiss as soon as she turns, regardless of the fact that Raven was mid-conversation with floppety haired Collins who looks dumbstruck at the change in circumstance. 

Raven kisses Zoe back enthusiastically, her hands sliding around Zoe’s waist, and then they exchange words before heading for the door Zoe turns and waves excitedly at Root and Shaw before the door closes behind her. 

“Our baby’s all grown up!” Root declares happily, taking a mouthful of beer and scanning the bar, “I see Joss.” 

“Oooh, pinball!” Shaw beelines towards the group, grinning.


	56. Epilogue

**Two weeks later**

Shaw shifts uncomfortably in her seat, hands wrapped around her hot coffee mug. She wishes she’d arranged to meet Tomas somewhere that sold alcohol. He’s here already, waved at her and went to get a beverage, and now the lady is pouring his drink and any second now he’ll come over.

She squirms.

Tomas takes his coffee with a broad smile for the barista and heads over, leaning down to kiss Shaw on the cheek, which, since she was getting up to... shake hands, maybe? Ends up with them basically headbutting each other. She grimaces and collapses back into her chair, while Tomas laughs easily and takes a seat, not looking even slightly uncomfortable.

“Uh, so. Thanks. For the cabin.” Shaw methodically slides his keys across the table towards him, and he leaves them there instead of scooping them up. 

“You gonna tell me what that was about? He asks, easily, “nothing I’m gonna get arrested for being an accomplice to, I hope?” He sips his coffee.

“No,” Shaw says confidently. Control definitely doesn’t want to arrest Tomas if she didn’t wanna arrest the rest of them, “uhm. A friend of mine was in trouble, serious trouble, and I’m not actually allowed to tell you about it?” She signed a waiver and everything, after all, “but... everything’s sorted out now, and well, thank you. I guess.”

“You guess thank me?” There’s a teasing note in his voice that makes Shaw’s hackles go up, and she takes a mouthful of her scalding coffee to give herself a second.

“Actually thank you.” _I guess_ , she adds in her head. “You didn’t have to do that, and you did. And that was nice of you.”

She feels a bit like a robot faking what you’re supposed to say to people, but Tomas doesn’t seem to mind, and that’s better than being a huge dick, she thinks. Joss helped her come up with the script, after all, and Joss is really good at being a person rather than an awkward robot.

“You’re welcome, mysterious one,” Tomas takes a small mouthful of his drink, “so how have you been?”

This is exactly what Shaw hoped to avoid, but she can’t very well just walk out a quarter of the way into her coffee. Probably? That would be rude, right? “Good?” It comes out very much as a question and he laughs.

“Med school? I heard we won the championships, congratulations on that.” He’s always so confident, so easy. Shaw feels like she might slide off her chair if she slumps any lower, and she wishes Root was here to handle the ‘being functional’ part of the day.

“Uhm, I got in to OHSA, Duke and, uh Columbia. But I’m deferring acceptance to OHSA,” she squirms, “the, uh, the city team here wants me to try out next week, and, well. Everyone else is staying in town.” 

“Oh yeah? That’s great! How is the Team?” He seems genuinely interested, and Shaw relaxes a little. 

Good, I mean. Everyone’s good. Zoe’s going to work at some fucking fancy ass law firm training with their... I dunno, research department or something? She keeps going on about corporate espionage. Joss _and_ John are both planning on taking the ASSET exam and going to the police academy in the fall, Joss has some idea about joining the FBI and I think John wants to be a Detective, God knows why. Harry’s starting a company with Root... uh,” she abruptly realises that Tomas has no idea who Root is and kind of stutters out of her train of thought. 

Tomas twitches an eyebrow, “Root? Would that be the girl I saw you making out with at the soccer semi-finals?” 

“... you were there?” Obviously that is the most important part. 

He shrugs, “Katya wanted to go, and I didn’t have anything else planned. You played really well.”

“Thanks,” Shaw isn’t sure she’s ever felt this awkward, “yeah, Root. Is the girl.” She pauses, and Tomas looks expectantly at her until she just rambles on, “the girlfriend, actually.”

Tomas blinks slowly, his lips parting in shock, and then curving into a kind grin, “that’s awesome, Shaw, congratulations.”

She feels her cheeks heat and grumbles something into her coffee as she hides her face. He reaches out for her free hand and pats it very briefly before withdrawing, “really, I’m happy for you.” 

“Don’t be gross,” she mutters, finishing her coffee far more quickly than necessary, swiping her hand over her mouth and then curling it around the empty cup, fingers laced together. 

He snorts, and finishes his coffee before getting to his feet, “alright, you're off the hook. Don’t be a stranger, hey? I’d like to come and see you play sometime, for the City.” 

She nods, not meeting his eyes, “yeah, cool. I’ll, uh. Facebook you or something.”

“Take care, Shaw,” he pushes his chair back under the table and grabs his keys before saunters out, not looking back. 

Shaw slumps back into her chair, fiddling with her phone. The lock screen picture has finally been changed from her drooling on Root’s chest, and now shows a photo taken at the soccer finals. Joss is clutching the trophy above her head, John is reaching up and just touching it with his fingertips, Zoe has her arm flung around Joss’ shoulders, her head thrown back laughing and Shaw is standing just next to them, looking straight at the camera with a broad smile on her face. She looks happy. Happier than she thinks she’s ever seen herself look, and the picture makes her feel good. Root took it, and set it on her phone without asking, but since before Root her backdrop was a black square—this is definitely an improvement. 

Shaw stays in the coffee shop for another twenty minutes with her empty mug before going to pick the nerd duo up from the library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many thanks to everyone who has been on this ridiculous ride with me. It's been two hours a day for four months, so I'd love it if you could take a minute out of your day to #feedmypraisekink because that is what makes it worthwhile for me!
> 
> The sequel definitely won’t be starting for a long time. But I am going to be putting up oneshots as and when I write them. So far I have these planned:
> 
> Raven/ Zoe smutapalooza (DR MECH DR MECH DR MECH)  
> An entire text fic where Joss has to stay home and Zoe narrates the evening to her  
> Bear’s day out  
> Shootzo (honestly this might kill us all. I’m fucking DYING writing it) Working title: Triangles are my Favourite Shape  
> Graduation  
> Drunk Shaw tries to communicate with Root only via emojis after Zoe bets her she can't
> 
> Also, I am accepting prompts for one shots, but no guarantees :) hit me up @constantlyhalfcocked on tumblr
> 
> YOU'RE ALL GREAT THANK YOU I LOVE YOU


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